Across the Board
by Sparky Dorian
Summary: Twenty-six short stories featuring the whole White Collar family, ranging from hurt/comfort to humor and everything in-between. No slash.
1. Amanda

_And this our life, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything. _

_William Shakespeare_

_Hello everyone! :) It's been sort of a while since I've posted anything... So here's what's going on with this thing (which is dedicated to my amazing friend Shelby, who gave me the prompts). This will be 26 stories, ranging from about 300 words to almost 2000. So it's a vast difference. Each will be based off a word from each letter of the alphabet. They will be posted over the next 26 days, since I've already finished them all. If you don't like this one, please, keep reading! They get better from here on out. And there are only two in present tense. _

_Please enjoy!_

_Sparky_

As they sit down at a small restaurant for a sort of informal meeting, a waitress comes up, her curly blonde hair falling barely into her eyes.

"Good morning. My name is Amanda, and I'll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Just waters," Peter says. He looks at Lauren, Jones, and Neal. They nod. They know he wants to keep the cost down. Amanda smiles, writing something down.

"Alright. I'll have those out in just a moment." As the pretty blonde walks away, the foursome begin discussing the complicated case they're working, Caffrey giving input regularly (not all of it related to the case). As the waitress returns and gives Neal his glass, he gives her a dazzling grin.

"Thank you, Amanda," he says. She smiles in return, one eyebrow going up.

"Sure thing. I'll come back in a minute, when you're ready to order." Peter catches Neal's eye as the waitress walks away, and he gives Peter his trademark shrug and smile. The next hour passes quickly, with bits of the case falling into place as they eat. Neal continues to flirt with the waitress whenever she returns to check on them.

As they stand to leave, Amanda taps Neal's shoulder.

"Hey. You want to do something later?" She asks with a quirky smile. Peter sees something in Neal's eyes as he smiles at her, politely declines, and leaves her with a glowing compliment. She isn't upset, and goes back to what she was doing before.

It is then that Peter realizes that this is what Neal does every time. He flirts, he gives charming smiles and comments. Not because he is genuinely trying to find a girl to date, but because that is who he is. Never has Peter heard him actually accept or make a date. He smiles and redirects, never leaving the woman upset, but always leaving.

Peter knows it is because of Kate. And he has to give that to the ex-con artist. He is loyal. As Peter watches Neal walk in the sunlit streets of Manhattan, he feels a bit more of the mystery that is Neal Caffrey make sense to him.


	2. Brother

Neal Caffrey knew a lot of things. He knew how to pick any lock (except his anklet), how to charm just about anyone, how to disappear when he needed to, how to create a distraction, how to tell when someone was lying. 

"Neal! I need you to look at something for me!" Agent Cruz waved him over to her desk. He walked over and examined a social security card that had been taken from a suspect.

"It's fake," he decided after a moment. He also knew how to tell when something was forged. And how to forge things himself.

"Thought so," Lauren said, satisfied. "Thanks." The gratitude was an afterthought, but Neal didn't mind. With a wave of acknowledgement, he walked back up to Peter's office where he had been sitting, waiting for the agent to return.

Neal knew how to keep himself entertained in almost any situation. It was not unusual for paper flowers or butterflies to find their way into the desk drawers or files of anyone who was having a bad day.

"Caffrey! Could you do that thing with the coffee again?" Jones asked with a slightly pleading expression. "It was way better than the normal slop when you made it." Neal grinned and nodded.

"For you, Jones? Of course." He stood up, straightening his "cartoon" suit and walking down to the small break room. Neal knew how to make a good cup of coffee out of whatever was on hand.

"Mmm. Thanks," Jones said as he took a sip a moment later.

"No problem." Neal returned to his seat in Peter's office and checked his watch. _Where is he? _Neal leaned back and put his feet up on the desk.

"Neal!" A voice barked. Neal jumped, his feet falling back to the floor and his eyes widening innocently from habit.

"Yes, Peter?" He asked as the brown-haired agent gave him a half-hearted scowl.

"I've told you not to put your feet on my desk."

"Oh, pardon me, Your Majesty. I'll try to keep my common street dust away."

"Thank you," Peter said drily, ignoring the sarcasm. "Now, we've got a case to solve today. A pretty big one. But first I've got to get some preliminary paperwork done." Neal held back a groan.

"I'm going to let you head out for a while."

"Any reason why?" Neal asked with one raised eyebrow, relieved he wouldn't be stuck with desk work.

"I know you hate paperwork," Peter said without looking up from what he was doing. Then his gaze jumped up, suddenly stern. "And I don't need your moaning distracting me. I want to get this done quickly." Neal got the feeling he'd added that part to keep Neal from thinking that he was going soft.

"Thank you for the consideration," Neal said, sincere with a sarcastic edge.

"Don't mention it. Now get out of my hair, and be back in an hour and half."

"Okay." Neal walked out the door.

"And, Caffrey?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be late getting back."

"I won't," Neal promised. He started walking down the stairs, smiling to himself as he entered the elevator.

Yes, Neal Caffrey knew a lot of things. How to get insider information, how to plan a successful heist, how to find the best restaurants in town.

But, no matter how hard he tried to figure it out, he didn't know when he'd started thinking of Peter Burke as his brother.


	3. Curfew

Elizabeth Burke paced the living room, fighting her natural worry, dark eyes flashing. A quiet knock sounded at the locked front door and she answered it quickly. A slightly shivering Neal Caffrey was standing on her porch. Immediately her worry turned to relief, which turned to anger as he walked through the door. He was staying with her and Peter for a few days, while June was traveling to visit a sick daughter and having the house cleaned thoroughly in her absence. 

"Where have you been? It's after one!" She watched Neal's expression go from slightly shocked to innocent.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Elizabeth said with a dangerous sort of patience, "why weren't you back a long time ago?"

"I didn't know there was a curfew," Neal said, his eyebrows going up as he raised his hands. He looked slightly puzzled. "Sometimes Peter doesn't go home until late."

"But that's when he is _working_. Were you out finishing up some last-minute paperwork?" She asked.

"Well-"

"No, you weren't. I _know _you weren't, because Peter is here. Asleep."

"Why are you so upset?" Neal asked, confused. "You could have called me. Or even used my tracker."

"I tried calling," Elizabeth said, lifting her cell as evidence. "It went straight to voicemail. And the tracker isn't available for 'civilians' to access." She watched Neal pull out his cell phone, his expression turning sheepish as he realized the battery was dead.

"Look, I'm sorry, Elizabeth I didn't mean to break your curfew. I appreciate you and Peter letting me stay here, or I wouldn't really have anyplace else to go. Really, I'm sorry." Elizabeth's anger melted away when his sincere blue eyes met hers. She let out an exhausted sigh, dropping her gaze to the carpet.

"It's okay, Neal," she said. "I... I'm just tired, and I'm not used to worrying about anyone but Peter." The FBI consultant was completely silent, enough that she looked back up and saw his normal mask of emotion completely gone, replaced by a slightly surprised confusion. It showed in his eyes and on his face, in his posture. Elizabeth felt strange to see him not censoring himself.

"Worrying?" Neal asked quietly, uncertainly. Elizabeth understood what he meant. _"You were worried about _me_?" _Elizabeth nodded gently, reaching forward to catch Neal's arm.

"Yes. Haven't you heard? One of the greatest white collar criminal minds in history is out of prison. We wouldn't want you getting hurt." She squeezed his arm reassuringly as she led him up the stairs. Quietly, they passed the room where Peter was sleeping and entered the guest room.

"Night, Neal," Elizabeth said, smiling softly.

"Good night, Elizabeth," Neal said, sitting down on the bed. "And... Thank you." Elizabeth nodded and closed the door quietly behind herself.

As she laid down next to her gently snoring husband, she thought about how surprised Neal had been when she'd casually said she was worried about him. _How long must it have been, for it to become that odd for someone to be worried about whether he made it home safely or not? _She resolved to make an effort to have Neal feel at home that week. From that day on, they were more comfortable with each other. Friendlier, more at ease.

And Neal Caffrey never broke her curfew again.


	4. Deplorable

As Wilkes hands him a gun, Neal remembers the first time he ever saw the results of one being used. 

_He had been a first grader, sitting quietly at his school desk solving a math puzzle meant for a much older student. A scream and a loud bang penetrated his usual bubble of concentration as someone near the front of the school started yelling. A wild-eyed teacher had come into the classroom, telling them that there was a shooter in the school and the police were supposed to come. _

_Neal's vibrant blue-green eyes widened in horror as he realized what that bang had been. A gunshot. Was someone dead? The panicked teacher locked the door behind herself and told them all to get on the floor. Neal did so quickly, wondering why anyone would come into school and shoot people. _

_Each time another shot rang out, Neal winced and tried to block out the noise with his hands. An eternity later, a gruff police officer had come and told them that they were secure, but that the building was being cleared for the rest of the day. As the silent, frightened first-through-sixth graders were escorted from the building, Neal caught glimpses of five bodies, two of which looked like students. _

_How was it possible, that those five people had been alive one moment, and dead the next? Anyone who would deliberately end someone else's existence was sick and messed up, he decided. And he would never be one of those people, for as long as he lived._

Wilkes gives Neal a slightly demeaning look and flicks the bullets from the gun one by one.

"I really don't like unloaded guns," Neal says in a slightly more content voice. It is better than a loaded gun, but still not desirable. For even with no bullets, it is still a tool of fear and destruction. Neal has seen more of those things in his life than he ever wanted to, for all his effort to avoid them.

As he prepares to play "round two" of Wilkes' twisted game, he resolves to get rid of the gun as soon as possible. Because even if the gun is unloaded, pressed upon him unwillingly, it still makes him a carrier of something violent. And Neal Caffrey decided long ago that violence was--and is--deplorable.

A/N: I didn't like this one as much when I wrote it, but it was what I thought of. I did rewatch Front Man yesterday and it was painful... Poor Neal. Anyways, thank you for your reviews. I love them! :) 


	5. Emotional

Lauren leaned her head against the outside wall of the office building, shivering. She had left the FBI headquarters in too big of a hurry to bother grabbing her coat. 

_When a doctor calls, it's never good news. _She remembered a joking conversation she'd once had with her sister many years earlier. That had been proved to her several times in the past, and now again today. Her phone had gone off, an unfamiliar number on the screen. The man on the other side introduced himself as "Dr. Green, from the Elliot Regional Cancer Center." That immediately told Lauren something was off. Nobody from the cancer center near her home town in Manchester should've been calling her.

"Yes, can I help you?" She inquired, trying not to sound puzzled.

"I've called to inform you that your mother has tested positive for stage one lung cancer." Lauren felt the world begin to spin around her. The doctor continued, but she didn't really hear him. "We're not sure of the cause yet. She does have some history of cigarette use, so that is likely. Since we found it at this stage, the chance of recovery is higher. She's going to have a surgery in two weeks, and chemotherapy sessions if that is ineffective." He cleared his throat. "She wanted me to tell you that she would like you to come visit her."

"Thank you, Dr. Green. Goodbye." Lauren hung up the phone, not caring if she'd been rude. The room suddenly seemed confining and too warm. She clenched one fist at her side and hurried through the glass doors, trying to appear calm. So she had ended up where she was, leaning against the side of the building, fighting to get her emotions under control.

She wasn't supposed to be like this. She was an FBI agent, for crying out loud. She dealt with trouble and stress every day. And now she was falling apart with no way to stop herself.

_Lung cancer... And she wants me to visit. _A bitter smile formed on her mouth. She hadn't spoken to her mother in nearly eleven years, since their falling out. _I should go. What if she... What if I never get another chance? _

Her throat tightened and her eyes stung as she swallowed. 

"Lauren?" A concerned voice sounded from the front of the building. Lauren straightened her shirt and blinked rapidly before responding, hoping her eyes weren't red.

"Yes?"

Neal Caffrey came around the corner, holding her coat over one arm, his face worried.

"You looked upset... What happened?" He asked. Lauren shook her head, forcing herself to smile. She felt embarrassed for being located in such a state.

"Oh, it's nothing. I started getting a headache, and I figured some cool air might help." Neal raised one eyebrow gently.

"I can tell you're lying." Lauren let out a sigh, half of impatience and half of barely contained hysteria.

"I said it's nothing, Caffrey. Now can you mind your own business and give me my coat?" She felt a twinge of guilt as Neal looked slightly hurt, which he quickly covered.

"Yes," he said, draping the coat over her shoulders. "But you know, you can tell me what's wrong." He got an earnest expression in his eyes. "Sometimes it helps." And that sent Lauren's barely contained feelings crashing over the edge.

"My mother... She has stage one lung cancer. And she wants me to come visit her, but I haven't spoken to her in over a decade." She heard her voice tighten. "And I still don't want to, but I don't know if I'll ever get another chance if I wait." Neal nodded comfortingly, placing one hand on her back.

"You should go, Lauren. If it's been that long, maybe things have changed." He shifted to look down at her. "And since it's still stage one, it's likely that she'll be okay."

"Maybe..." Lauren didn't know what to think.

"Do you want to go home, or go back inside?"

"I think Hughes would kill me if I cut out in the middle of a case, regardless of circumstances." Releasing the burden to someone else _had _helped, she decided. And Neal's unbiased opinion was probably the right thing to do.

"Back inside it is," Neal agreed. "Hey, did I tell you about the time Peter first caught me?" Lauren shook her head, though she didn't really want to hear the story. But as he related the tale, his body language mimicking the older FBI agent's, she found herself slipping into laughter occasionally. By the time they reached the headquarters again, she was openly smiling.

"And right as he was closing the door of the squad car, a pigeon flew over and dropped one right on his shoulder."

"Really?" She asked as the elevator doors opened.

"Really," Neal confirmed. "And then, when he came to the apartment after I escaped, he was wearing the same suit." Lauren stifled a laugh as they walked through the doors. Neal squeezed her arm as he walked away, giving her a parting, reassuring smile. And somehow, he made her feel less ashamed about having been so... emotional.

_A/N: Again, this one isn't exactly my favorite, but I like Neal and his helpfulness and awesomeness. ^_^ I hope you liked it._


	6. Florida

Peter Burke walked along the sunny sidewalks of a city in Florida, examining the streets for a "Garden Hotel." A Mr. James Anderson was registered for a room there, and according to Peter's current source, he matched Caffrey's description. 

He wasn't sure if he was glad the Florida division of the FBI had allowed him temporary jurisdiction (on account of his "experience" with the Caffrey case) on their turf or not. Sure, he wanted the kid arrested as much as anyone, but it was so hot and humid. Peter stepped into the shadows of a building.

"Excuse me." He tapped a young man standing in front of him. "Could you please give me directions to the Garden Hotel?" He saw the man's shoulders stiffen ever so slightly as he turned around.

"No, sorry. I'm just visiting here. I bet a store clerk could help you, or something." The man's voice was vaguely familiar, but his features were obscured by the heavy shadows. Peter could tell he was an inch or two below Peter's own height, and probably in his mid-twenties.

"Oh. Well, thanks," Peter said. "Hey, do I know you?" He asked uncertainly.

"Hm." The young man seemed to consider this for a split second. "No, I don't think so." He pulled out a cell phone and checked the time. "Hey, man, I've got to run. Good luck finding the hotel."

"Yeah, thanks," Peter said, still trying to place the stranger's voice. The young man walked away from him briskly. As Peter watched him leave, the man finally stepped into the sunlight, revealing a dark-haired figure in a pair of dark jeans and a pale blue t-shirt. The bright light glinted off his slight curls and Peter realized where he'd seen that casual, graceful walk before. _Caffrey. _Briefly he took a split second to curse the young man for looking as cool and composed as he did in the hot weather, then he hurried forward, going around people to do so, but Caffrey was already gone.

Peter cursed and ran a hand through his hair. _Where would he go?_ He asked himself. He felt his stomach growl and decided that asking around in commonly-used places would be a good plan. People didn't often forget a person like Neal Caffrey. At least, that's what he told himself to ease his conscience as he walked into a busy cafe.

"Hello," he said when he got to the register. He placed a small lunch order of a turkey sandwich and a root beer, then asked curiously, "I'm here waiting for my business associate. I was wondering if you'd seen him? Dark hair, blue eyes, real _charming_?" He tried to keep sarcasm from his voice. The elderly man considered this.

"I haven't seen anyone like that. Sorry. I'll have your order brought to your table in a minute." Trying not to be disappointed, Peter sat down in a small booth and rubbed his head with tired hands. _I've got to find him. _

"Here's your order," a young waitress interrupted his silence a moment later, holding a tray with his order balanced on it. She set it down on his table.

"Thanks."

"Yep. Enjoy your meal." She walked away. Peter lifted up his soda, then something on the edge of the tray caught his eye. He set down the soda. A small, blue paper lily was resting under a napkin. He lifted it with a sneaking suspicion, and read one word on a petal.

_Open._

He pulled the origami flower open gently, reading the neatly penned inscription inside.

_Dear Peter,_

_Great to see you again! I was so surprised to meet you here in Florida. How's the weather agreeing with you? It's supposed to cool down soon, don't worry. I won't be sticking around long, though. Too bad we won't see more of each other. Oh, and I hope you don't mind, but I changed your sandwich order to a deviled ham. I'm not partial to them myself, but I've heard they're your favorites. Hopefully you can get back to Elizabeth soon, since her birthday was yesterday. Enjoy yourself._

_XOXO _

_Neal _

A/N So. Hope you liked this one! :) I enjoyed writing it. A few things: I don't know much (anything) about FBI policies, so just suspend disbelief if I got it horribly wrong. Also, this is closer to the beginning of when Peter started chasing him, so he didn't recognize him _immediately_. Thank you for all of your kind reviews!


	7. Gumption

Mozzie looked up at the gray sky. It seemed unnaturally silent after the heavy downpour of earlier. Walking down the crowded sidewalk towards the nearest subway station, he shivered slightly as his breath came out in clouds. He was... less than comfortable being around so many people at once, especially with the hour getting as late as it was, but it was unfortunately necessary. 

Someone just an inch or so shorter than him bumped into his left side. Hard. He stopped and looked down, his gaze caught momentarily by a pair of bright blue-green eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't looking where I was going," the dark-haired kid said, his expression sincere and repentant.

"It's fine," Mozzie said dismissively, his thoughts on his eventual destination rather than the present. He turned back towards the subway station and kept walking. He descended the stairs to the subway. An elderly man was sitting and playing an admittedly beautiful song on a violin. He had the case open in front of his feet.

_It's probably a scam, _Mozzie decided, always the cynical one. But he had some extra cash, and he was feeling generous, so he reached for his wallet.

And he found only an empty pocket where it should've been.

Suddenly his mind analyzed the situation of a few moments earlier. _"I'm sorry, sir." _The innocent-looking young teen bumping him now seemed like the most likely explanation. Mozzie cursed internally. It just so happened that the _one _day he decided to bring something in his wallet he cared about keeping, it got stolen. _Just my luck. _

He hurried back up the subway stairs, ignoring the indignant protests of the masses as he pushed past them. Emerging back into the slightly darkening evening, he started walking in the direction he'd seen the kid walking. It was a long shot, but he _really _wanted the wallet back.

After a few frustrating minutes of scanning, he finally caught a glance of a blue-green eyes and dark hair moving through the crowd. Mozzie clenched his teeth, hoping it was the same kid, and walked a little quicker towards him. Yes, it was definitely him. Mozzie stopped a few feet away, and watched as the young man pulled a pickpocketing job right in front of him. This one was much better. His mark didn't even notice. Someone must've bumped the kid into Mozzie, he decided, or he never would've been able to tell at all.

Mozzie moved forward and grabbed the kid's shoulder. His flinch was more than a normal reaction should be.

"I need to talk to you for a minute," Mozzie said quietly. "Come over here with me?" He was confused when the kid winced and twisted slightly to get away from his hand; his grip on the youth's shoulder was firm, but shouldn't have been tight enough to be painful.

"Do I have a choice?" The kid muttered. Mozzie steered him underneath the awning of a café that was still dripping cold rain.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me." Mozzie saw worry flash in the kid's eyes for a brief second, quickly replaced by a calm, questioning look.

"What do you mean?" He asked, tilting his head to one side. His dark curls were still a bit damp from the rain, as were his clothes--a light green, short sleeved t-shirt and dark blue, slightly worn jeans that Mozzie felt were very unsuited to the cold, wet weather.

"Cut the crap," Mozzie advised with a noise of impatience, still keeping his voice down. "You've got my wallet, kid. And, by the look of things, several other people's, too."

"Look, sir, I have no idea what you're talking about." The young thief stood there, his posture and expression just the right mixture of confusion and polite frustration. His act was slightly ruined by the obviously repressed shivering Mozzie could see. The kid was cold, and trying to hide it.

"Either we can do this the easy way, and you give me my wallet no questions asked," Mozzie said, quirking one eyebrow. "Or we do this the hard way, and I go have a talk with one of the _outstanding_ law enforcers around here." The boy hesitated for one more second, then wordlessly pulled out Mozzie's well-used brown wallet and held it towards him. As he lifted his arm, Mozzie saw a slight bruise where the sleeve had before been covering it. Without comment, Mozzie took the wallet and quickly found what he needed, holding back a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," Mozzie said curtly.

"Can I please leave now?" The kid asked with a forced politeness.

"Yes. But first, I have a tip for you." In response, the kid just raised an eyebrow.

"I saw you pull the same job a minute ago. It was better. Did someone bump you when you were pickpocketing me?" A slightly surprised look passed over the kid's face, and he shrugged.

"Maybe. Why?"

"If that happens again, don't stop, and don't look up. You're too memorable. Just say you're sorry and keep walking." The surprise turned to slight suspicion, but he nodded. "If you hadn't stopped all innocent-like, I wouldn't have ever thought of you. And even if I had, I doubt I would've been able to find you. Most of your average citizens will usually think they've dropped something, rather than assuming it was stolen, but you can't be too careful."

"Why're you telling me this?"

"I'm not encouraging the continuation of this," Mozzie assured him. "I'd just hate for you to get arrested when you're just making a few rookie mistakes."

"Rookie, huh? As opposed to you?"

"Maybe." Mozzie shrugged. "Now you can go."

"Oh, thanks," the youth said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He walked away back into the cold darkness, and Mozzie shook his head with a half smile and walked back down to the subway.

A/N: I know this one didn't _use _the word. Is that a requirement? Does it bother you if it doesn't? I'm curious. ...But _gumption_. It's a strange word. So I didn't feel like it fit smoothly anywhere. Hope you enjoyed this. Being ... me, the picture of teenage-ish Neal in my head tends to make me... giddy. Anyone else? I'd love feedback!


	8. Heather

Elizabeth Burke set up a final decoration on one of her tables and stood back to make sure it was just right. She turned her gaze around the rest of the light, airy scene and her eyes settled on one of the only people in it. Neal had finished helping her, and now sat in one of the pale folding chairs, twirling a black hat in his lap. She smiled ruefully and walked over. 

"Hey, Neal," she said as she came next to him. He had chosen a seat in the very back corner. "I appreciate you coming with Peter to help me set up. I'm sorry if you're bored." The young man sat up and gave her a smile.

"Nah, I'm good," he said. "And it was nothing. The place looks beautiful, Elizabeth. So do you." She smiled, pleased at his compliment. A lot of planning had gone into this event, and she wanted to have it perfect. She admitted to herself that she was nervous. She noticed that Neal always seemed to be able to make people feel confident. And if he thought the setting was nice, it probably was. He certainly was an expert on art.

"Thanks," she said. "I expect people will start arriving soon." Neal nodded. She continued, "I'm going to go make sure Lillian is ready."

"Good luck," Neal said as she walked away. Elizabeth went down the hall to talk to her friend and partner in the charity event that was taking place. The aim was to help showcase Burke Premier Events and Lillian's catering company, while also helping to raise money to help fund education in Africa.

"Is everything ready to go back here?" Elizabeth asked. Lillian nodded.

"Yes. Is everything ready out there?"

"Mhmm. Let's get this show on the road, I guess." Elizabeth could hear people beginning to arrive.

"Sounds good to me," Lillian said. Elizabeth smiled and went out to greet people as Peter came to join her. Neal remained quietly sitting on the back row alone until all the rest were filled, then finally a stern-looking elderly woman and a little girl dressed in a cute brown dress came and sat a couple seats away from Neal.

As she prepared to start, Elizabeth watched with amusement as the little girl watched Neal continue to fiddle with his hat, while the elderly woman shot Neal an irritated glance. Just before Elizabeth went to the front, she watched Lillian come up behind the little girl and plant a kiss on her curly red hair. _I guess that's her daughter, then._ Lillian walked to the front row and sat down in the seat she had reserved.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Elizabeth said, standing in front of the chairs. "I'd like to thank you all for coming today." As began her presentation, her eyes kept flitting back to where Neal was sitting. The stern woman had drifted off to sleep, and the little girl was slowly edging closer to Neal, who had finally stopped twirling his hat around. As she kept talking, she saw Neal smile at the little girl and whisper something to her. He seemed to be showing her something that made her laugh quietly. Elizabeth fought the urge to smile.

Elizabeth finished talking and invited them all to look around at the tables, which had pictures and flyers explaining the cause. One of the tables also had food from Lillian. Peter stood up from his seat and gave Elizabeth a loving smile.

"You did good, El," he said. Elizabeth smiled back.

"Thanks," she said. She grinned as she saw the little redhead shoot the sleeping woman a furtive glance. Apparently satisfied that she was sound asleep, the girl grabbed Neal's right hand and bounced towards the nearest table. Neal followed her, grinning at the little girl.

"Oh, she's doing it again." An exasperated voice sounded behind her. "Tell me her nanny didn't fall asleep." Lillian rolled her eyes. "Heather is such a handful, I don't know why I let her come."

"She's adorable," Elizabeth said with a smile. "How old is she?"

"Five. Her birthday was last week." Lillian let out a sigh. "I'll go pry her off her latest victim."

"He doesn't mind. He likes children," Elizabeth said, watching as Heather was showing Neal how to draw something. He appeared to be watching intently, nodding as she moved the pen across the blank back of the flyer.

"Oh, is he a friend of yours?" Lillian asked lightly, turning towards Elizabeth and Peter. Peter gave his half-smile.

"You could say that," Peter said.

"Yes," Elizabeth said at the same time. They shared an amused glance.

"That's nice," Lillian said, becoming distracted. "Well, it looks like the food needs refilling. If she starts causing trouble, let me know."

"They look like they're having fun," Elizabeth said as she watched Neal finish one of his origami creations. Heather smiled delightedly as he gave her the small paper crane. She apparently decided that she'd had enough coloring and folding, and pulled Neal over to the food table that Lillian had just left.

"My mommy made this," Elizabeth heard the little girl proudly declare. "And I helped her choose what flavor of mini cupcakes to make." She carefully picked up one of the light pink cupcakes and handed it to Neal. He bit into it and smiled.

"Well, you did a fantastic job choosing. Is strawberry your favorite?" He asked. Heather nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, 'cause that's my daddy's favorite." Neal smiled again, but from where she was standing she could see a sort of distance in the smile.

"I'm glad," Neal said with a little nod. He finished the little cupcake. Heather managed to wait until he'd thrown the paper away to take him to their next destination. Elizabeth turned back to Peter and grasped his hand.

"Thanks for coming, Peter," she said, surveying some of the people as they walked from table to table. She was happy to see that a many of them had taken business cards, and a few had written checks to donate.

"I wouldn't have missed it," he assured her, squeezing her hand. As the time went on, a couple people walked over to thank her for the nice event, and eventually everyone was gone but her, Peter, Neal, Lillian, and the little girl. _And the sleeping nanny, _Elizabeth thought amusedly. Really, though, she wasn't a very responsible caregiver if she fell asleep. Peter began to help Elizabeth gather up the table decorations and place them back into the small boxes she'd brought.

"That went well," Lillian commented as she packed up the last of the leftover food.

"It did," Elizabeth agreed with a smile.

"You need anymore help?" Lillian asked.

"No, we're almost done."

"Thank goodness for your friend," Lillian said with a shake of her head. "Or Heather would've been bouncing off the walls. I've got to get her a new nanny. Maybe an au pair instead."

"For her energy level that might be better," Elizabeth agreed.

"Heather!" Lillian called to the five-year-old. "Time to go!" As the exasperated parent walked to wake up the elderly nanny, Elizabeth watched the little girl.

"Do I get to keep this?" Heather asked, holding up the crane.

"Yes. It's for you."

"Thanks!" She said with a huge grin, hugging his legs. "Bye, Neal." Elizabeth saw the surprise and then happiness in Neal's profile as he squeezed her shoulder.

"Goodbye, Heather," he said quietly. She skipped back to her mother and Neal came to help Elizabeth clean up.

"Did you have fun?" Elizabeth asked teasingly.

"Yes," Neal said with a content smile.

"You're good with kids," she commented. He shrugged with a sheepish grin. Peter came up from behind.

"That's because he practically is one," the FBI agent said, grinning at Neal.

"You know me," Neal said with a smile. "Peter Pan, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." Elizabeth smiled to herself at the banter between the two men. The afternoon had been good for all of them.

A/N: I got the idea for this one at a talent show my friends did for school. The cute little kids there (they were rather restless) made me wonder what Neal would do in such a situation. I hope you enjoyed it. Did you think the ending was okay? Thank you for all the reviews last chapter! :) For those who enjoy that particular part of the story, there will be one more sooner than you think. *smile*


	9. Ice Cream

_A/N: I'm so glad you all like the younger Neal/Mozzie story arc! This is the only other one there is in the alphabet, but I'm thinking I might do a longer version later. So, enjoy! :)_

It was a fairly warm evening for February, and Mozzie marveled at the indecision of "mother nature." Only about two days earlier it had been freezing and rainy, even snowing. He adjusted his glasses as he walked up the sidewalk. As he passed a more crowded area, a dark head of curls caught his eye. The kid who'd stolen his wallet a couple days previously was walking in the same direction as Mozzie, going a bit faster. A small diner a few buildings ahead of him gave Mozzie an idea.

Mozzie sped up to catch up to him and automatically placed a hand on the kid's shoulder. There was the same suppressed flinch. Mozzie frowned, remembering the marks of bruises he'd seen the week before. The kid turned and he looked slightly puzzled when he saw Mozzie standing there.

"Can I help you?" He asked in a neutral tone.

"Maybe," Mozzie said vaguely. The kid tilted his head impatiently.

"Well, if not, I have other places to be."

"Alright," Mozzie said. "Then I'll get to the point. How would you like to come get ice cream with me from the diner?"

"Ice cream," the kid repeated flatly. "Thank you, I'll pass."

"Look, I know it's... weird of me to ask, but it's my birthday today, and it'd be slightly depressing to go alone." Rather a lie. Mozzie generally _preferred_ being alone, but in this case he'd make an exception.

"Uh-huh."

"Look, I'm not demanding. I'm _asking. _Politely asking. No strings attached. You can leave whenever you feel the need."

"Last time you gave me tips on _theft._" The boy's eyebrows raised."And now I'm coming with you 'to get ice cream.' "

"Great, it's settled." Mozzie nodded slightly. The kid looked at him appraisingly, then gave a shrug.

"Whatever," he said. Mozzie almost smiled triumphantly.

"Okay. After you, then." Mozzie held the glass door open. He noticed that while the boy was wearing a dark blue t-shirt this time, he still had the same jeans on. _Though he must've washed them, _Mozzie decided._ They do look clean, at least. _Mozzie sat down in his usual small booth, and the kid took a seat on the bench across from him. He looked sort of... uneasy, but covered it well. Mozzie doubted very much that anyone who wasn't experienced in reading people would've noticed.

"Oh, good evening, Mozzie," the middle-aged blonde waitress said. Mozzie gave a small smile. It was only after much effort that he'd finally persuaded her to call him by his nickname.

"Hi, Lisa. We are going to get some ice cream, I think."

"Perfect. We just got some of yours in."

"Excellent. And..." Mozzie gave the kid a glance. "What do you want?" For a brief second surprise showed on the boy's face, then he shrugged nonchalantly.

"I guess I'll just get chocolate, please," he said politely to the waitress. She nodded with a slightly distracted smile.

"I'll have those out in a flash," she said. "Anything else?"

"How about just two waters," Mozzie requested.

"Sounds good." The waitress pivoted and walked back towards the counter.

The boy fixed his intense blue eyes on Mozzie, his eyebrows raising questioningly.

"So, it's Mozzie, I take it?"

"That would be me," Mozzie agreed. "And you are?" The kid seemed to deliberate for a long moment, giving Mozzie an intense, searching gaze that made Mozzie almost want to squirm. Finally his shoulders released slightly as he made a decision.

"Neal."

"Neal?..."

"Just Neal." Neal ran a hand through his dark hair lightly, examining the gray-flecked plastic of the table.

"Fair enough," Mozzie consented. Lisa came back with a small round tray. She placed a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a glass of ice water in front of Neal, and some pale vanilla ice cream and water in front of Mozzie.

"Thanks," Mozzie said. Neal simply nodded. Lisa grinned.

"You're welcome. Enjoy." As she walked away, Neal looked at Mozzie's pale ice cream.

"What did she mean when she said 'your' ice cream?" He asked quietly.

"Oh," Mozzie said. "I'm lactose intolerant. Apparently I come here often enough that they've taken to ordering a few cartons of lactose-free ice cream." He picked up his spoon and took a bite. "And I sure appreciate it." Neal gave a nod and took a small bite of the chocolate ice cream.

"Mmm." Neal appeared surprised by the taste. "This is good."

"Best around," Mozzie agreed. They continued in relative silence until Neal broke it almost hesitantly.

"So is it really your birthday?" He asked. Mozzie shrugged with a slight grimace.

"Yes. I'm officially three decades old." Neal nodded.

"Happy birthday then." Mozzie smiled slightly.

"Why, thank you." He finished his bowl of ice cream a few seconds before Neal did.

"Shouldn't you get home?" Mozzie asked. "It's getting late." Neal's gaze darkened almost imperceptibly and dropped to the table as he shrugged.

"'t doesn't really matter when I get home," he said. Mozzie was silent. He placed his spoon into his now-empty bowl and took a drink of the cold water.

"I think it's technically too cold for ice cream," he commented. Neal looked up and shrugged.

"It was still good," he said. Mozzie nodded. He dropped a tip onto the table and stood up.

"Well, _I_ should probably be getting home," he said. Neal stood up as well.

"Okay." As they exited the small diner, Neal gave Mozzie a slightly shy smile--the first one Mozzie had seen on the kid.

"Thanks," he said. Mozzie smiled back.

"You're welcome. Thank _you_ for coming." Neal nodded.

"'Bye."

"Good night," Mozzie said, as he started in the direction of his tiny apartment. _Not too bad of a way to end a birthday_, he decided. He thought of the small smile he'd finally gotten from the boy-turned-pickpocket. _Not bad at all._


	10. Jane

Peter Burke knocked on the front door of June's large house. 

"Good morning, Peter," the kindly woman said as a housekeeper let him in.

"Morning," he said with a smile and nod. "Is Neal upstairs?"

"I believe so," she said, putting her small dog down.

"Alright then, I'll just go up. Thanks," Peter said. June smiled. Peter walked up the slightly spiraled staircase and came to the door of Neal's sort of penthouse apartment. He knocked briefly. Neal opened the door and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Morning, Peter," Neal said. "You're early." Peter shrugged.

"We've got a lot to do. I'm not _that _early."

"Okay," Neal said, drawing out the word. "Well, come in. I still have to put on a tie." Peter stepped inside and looked around while the ex-con artist fixed the final button on his white shirt and picked up a dark-colored tie. Peter's eyes settled on a book lying on Neal's bedside table. He shot the dark-haired man an amused glance and picked it up.

_Pride and Prejudice._

"Doing a little reading, Neal?" Peter asked. Neal turned around from where he was adjusting his tie and tilted his head. 

"What?" Peter held up the worn book in answer and he could've sworn he saw Neal's cheeks turn a bit pink. _Maybe it's the light,_ he thought, trying hard not to be delighted. A half-smile formed on his lips as he met Neal's blue eyes.

"Jane Austen, Neal? Really?"

"It's a classic, Peter," he said defensively, removing the book gently from Peter's grasp and setting it back down.

"I just never pegged you for a _Pride and Prejudice_ type of guy," Peter said.

"It was my mother's favorite book," Neal said with a light shrug, his eyes softening as he looked at it. Peter looked at Neal silently for a moment, then shrugged.

"I can accept that." He waited as Neal pulled on a black suit coat and they walked out to Peter's Taurus.

"So, has Mr. Darcy given Elizabeth 'the letter' yet?" Peter asked teasingly. Neal quirked an eyebrow. Peter shrugged. "Tenth grade required reading. I barely got through it."

"I see," Neal said with a smile. "To answer your question, no. That's in the next chapter. He just declared his love to Elizabeth, but it didn't go over so well, as you know." Peter laughed.

"I remember." They were silent the rest of the way to Headquarters.

A few hours later, suppressed chuckles could be heard from Peter's glass office as Neal and Peter found something inexplicably funny about reading the case file of robbery victim William Darcy.

_A/N: Pure fluff. I hope you enjoyed it. :) Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews!_


	11. Kiss

Elizabeth stood in her small apartment, quickly adjusting her simple, dark blue dress. She and Peter had been on several dates already, but she felt rather nervous each time regardless. She put her black bag over her shoulder and opened her door to find Peter Burke already standing there, poised to knock. 

"Hello, Peter," she said brightly, trying not to laugh as his face melted into a slightly sheepish grin.

"Hi. Sorry, I'm a little early," he said.

"I don't mind," she murmured. He pressed the button on the elevator and they stepped in.

"You look beautiful, Elizabeth," Peter said sincerely. Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat up a little as she smiled.

"Thanks. You look nice, too." The elevator reached the ground floor and Elizabeth felt the familiar, strange sensation that accompanied a stopping elevator. Elizabeth smiled as Peter held the door open for her as they walked outside. _He's such a gentleman._

"So," Peter said as he helped her into his sort of beat-up little blue car, "there's a new little place downtown that I've heard is great."

"That sounds nice," Elizabeth said as the car started. They drove down the crowded road and Peter pulled into a small parking space, then they walked a ways to where a cute little restaurant was sort of hidden from the world. _Vela de Vidrio. _

"Oh, it's pretty," Elizabeth said, gazing at the candlelit glass windows. Peter smiled as he opened up the door for her.

"Yeah." They walked inside to find it mostly empty, and apparently the candles were a recurring theme, since they were everywhere. They sat down in a quiet corner booth and within a few moments a petite waitress approached them. Peter ordered some chicken alfredo pasta, and Elizabeth decided to try the lasagna. Elizabeth looked around, taking in the small room.

"This is great, Peter," she said. "Thanks." He squeezed her hand.

"Thank _you._" They were remarkably fast in getting food to them, and Elizabeth thought it smelled fantastic.

"Okay, let's both try our food at the same time," Elizabeth proposed with a teasing grin. Peter nodded.

"On three, then." At the count of three they both took a bite, and each tried not to make a face.

"Mmm," Elizabeth said half-heartedly.

"Mhmm." Peter swallowed his bite of pasta and let out a little cough.

"Wow." Elizabeth eyed the lasagna suspiciously. "It's certainly..."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, wincing slightly. Suddenly the quiet of the restaurant was broken as a shattering sound and a shout came from the kitchen. A panicked chef emerged.

"We have a fire! We're calling 9-1-1, everyone get out!" Elizabeth's eyes widened as Peter took her hand and they quickly exited the building. A dull glow that was brighter than the candles came from the back of the building as sirens sounded in the distance. The few patrons that had been in the restaurant were herded away, and Peter opened the door of his car.

"Peter?" Elizabeth asked, putting a hand on her arm. "Let's just go for a walk in that park, instead of going somewhere else." Peter gave her a smile and nodded.

"Alright," he said. He took her arm and they walked through the small, darkening park.

"I'm sorry," Peter said quietly as they wandered around in the grassy trees.

"I don't mind," Elizabeth said. "This is nice." Peter didn't look convinced. Elizabeth's gaze was caught by a small bench overlooking a little pond that was lit by a circle of small lamps.

"Do you want to go sit?" She asked. Peter looked at the pond and nodded. They made their way over to the bench and sat down. Elizabeth leaned her head against his shoulder and watched a small family of ducks make their way to the banks for the night. She felt Peter's shoulder rise and fall in a large sigh.

"I'm sorry," Peter said again. "This wasn't anything like I'd had planned. First the food, then the place caught on _fire, _and now..." He stopped as Elizabeth sat up, meeting his eyes with a stern look.

"Now, Peter Burke," she said, shaking her head. "You have to stop blaming yourself for all this. It wasn't your fault, and I've loved the evening. It's been..." It was her turn to stop as Peter leaned down and kissed her gently. She closed her eyes and sighed. They pulled away.

"Perfect," she finished, looking at the light reflecting in his brown eyes. Peter smiled softly.

"_You're_ perfect, El," he said, touching her cheek with one finger.

"El," she said thoughtfully, a teasing smile on her face. "I like that." And this time she leaned up to kiss _him_.

_A/N: So. More fluff. The next few are. Hopefully that's okay with you all. *grin* Thank you for all of your responses. It makes me quite happy._


	12. Love

Her house had felt so empty. Each time June walked through the doors, she'd imagined when she would come home to find Byron playing their grand piano and singing, or working intently at their large table. When she walked down the staircase, she would remember the many parties they'd held, and how she'd come down to see all the people laughing and enjoying themselves. 

Her children had all already moved out, leaving her with a dog and housekeeper for company. Eventually her granddaughter came to stay while she went to art school, but she was really never around. And so June tried to keep her mind occupied, tried not to miss the past too badly.

Then one day she had gone to the thrift shop, planning to donate some of Byron's clothing at last, to begin the process of moving on. And, surprisingly, she'd met a young man who reminded her very much of her late husband. Neal Caffrey was dark-haired, charming, and intelligent. When he'd given her a happy grin from under Byron's favorite hat, she felt a painful mixture of emotions. Their conversation had ended with June inviting Neal to stay in her guest room.

At first it had felt odd. One moment he'd been a complete stranger, the next he'd been an _almost_ complete stranger who lived in her home. Then things began to feel more natural. His friend Mozzie visited often, and then later the Alex girl (whom she did not _completely _trust). He seemed to bring new warmth into her home, making things feel almost normal in a way she couldn't quite place.

And so, this time as she walked through the doors into her large house, June was glad to be coming home. She put her coat up into the closet and smiled as Neal came down the stairs with a case file in one hand and his hat in the other.

"Good morning, Neal," she said. He shifted so that he had one free arm and gave her a sideways hug.

"Morning, June," he said with his usual grin. "Peter wants me there early today, so I've got to run."

"Good luck," she said, knowing he would not really need it. Peter had told her on one of his visits how much help the young _reformed _criminal really was. And she believed it. 

"Thanks," Neal said. "See you tonight!"

"Have a good day," she said with a parting smile. He walked out the double doors and June marveled at how quickly he had become like a grandson to her. She walked to her bedroom and picked up one of her favorite movies, smiling. Neal Caffrey had done what she'd thought impossible--he had filled her home once again with life, and laughter, and most of all with love.

_A/N: So, what did you think? I really wanted to do one with June, and this was what happened._


	13. Mad

It started off as an average Monday-not too enjoyable, but bearable. Peter Burke drove to FBI headquarters and headed to his office with a general wave good morning. 

Then Peter Burke encountered something that should never be found on a Monday morning. A dark-haired, grinning, suit-clad figure was sitting with its feet up on Peter's desk. Neal Caffrey was unaffected by Monday mornings, or indeed by any morning at all.

"Good morning, Peter," the ex-con practically chirped, obligingly removing his feet from Peter's desk and migrating to his customary chair.

"Morning." Peter sat down, feeling a bit of a headache beginning to creep over him. He had been up late reading a case file. Again. _I should've listened to Elizabeth, _he thought. His wife had wisely informed him that he was going to be too tired to do anything tomorrow if he didn't go to sleep. He'd insisted that he would be fine. He had been wrong.

"So, do you know what we're doing today?" Neal asked, spinning his hat in his lap.

"Nope." Peter pushed himself to his computer and entered something.

"Oh." Neal was helpfully silent for the next few moments as Peter frowned at his keyboard, which had apparently decided that the letter "a" was no longer necessary.

"Burke, Caffrey," Hughes said, sticking his head through the open door, "I want you two to check something out. It's a store near Grand Central."

"Will do," Peter said. He glanced up to see that Neal had taken the file from Hughes with a grin, appearing thrilled to have something to do besides sit across the desk from Peter.

"It's not urgent. I'd like you to read the file first. See what stands out to you." Hughes closed the door behind himself and left. Neal opened the file, then handed it to Peter.

"Looks boring," Neal decided. "Definitely _not urgent_." The young man leaned back into his chair with a slight sigh.

"Shhh," Peter said, scanning the first page. It _did _look boring, but he wasn't going to say that to Caffrey. The file wasn't thick, and he scanned it quickly, summarizing to Neal as he read. He heard a scraping noise as Caffrey pulled his chair closer to the desk.

Peter came to the end of a page and asked, "So, do you think there's an actual case here?"

No answer came from across the desk. Peter looked up to find Neal doodling on a small stack of sticky notes Peter had on his desk for taking notes on cases. He felt a rush of exasperation with the consultant.

"Caffrey," he said in an annoyed voice. Blue eyes jumped up to meet his, going to their usual nonchalant innocent expression. "Did you hear _anything_ I just said?"

Neal hesitated. "I got the general gist of it..." He shrugged guiltily. "It's just..."

"Boring?" Neal nodded. "Well, cowboy up. We have to get through the cases we are assigned, and not all of them are going to be _exciting_."

"Sorry. Just give me the file and I'll look over it in the car." Peter handed Neal the folder, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he stood.

"Let's go." He left the office, Caffrey close behind.

"If I die of boredom today," he heard Neal say quietly to Jones, "you can have my Mets baseball cap." Jones let out a small chuckle.

"Caffrey." Neal turned around and caught up to Peter.

"Sorry. Just taking care of technicalities in advance."

"Well, don't. Today is not the day for antics." He heard Neal turn a smothered laugh into a cough.

"Okay. I'll behave, Peter. No more _antics_."

They emerged from the FBI building into the cold air. As they neared Peter's Taurus and Neal grinned at a pretty passing brunette, Peter let out a slightly frustrated sigh. They stopped in front of the car and Peter gave Neal a look.

"One of these days, Caffrey, you're going to drive me mad."

"Peter..." Neal began, his eyes full of suppressed laughter while his face held a mixture of sympathy and amusement. "I hate to tell you this, but someone else already accomplished that. Long, long ago." Peter half-smiled in spite of himself at the slight grin on Neal's face, shaking his head ruefully. _I did set myself up for that. _

"Just get in."

_A/N: Happy Monday everyone! It makes me laugh that this is when this particular chapter landed. There are only 50 days until season two of White Collar! I am so insanely excited. And nine days left of school for me, which is also awesome. So, reviews?_


	14. Norway

_A/N: This chapter is interesting. The prompt was interesting, if that helps. "Norway." Honestly, Shelby friend. Who sees N and thinks "Ooh! Norway!" *sigh* But hey, it's got Mozzie in it. One last thing. I'd like to send a shout-out to all my awesome reviewers! Particularly Anna, who reviewed anonymously last chapter. Thanks for reading, Anna! It made my day to hear that these help your days be brighter, since that's really what these are all about. So, we're now past the half way point... Thanks, fellow Collars!_

Mozzie leaned back in his mildly uncomfortable chair and contemplated something.

"My glass is empty," he observed. His dark-haired friend nodded.

"Yes, Moz, it's empty," Neal Caffrey said, a hint of weariness in his voice. Not that Mozzie noticed this. He was past noticing things.

"Why is it empty?" He asked, his face puzzled.

"You drank it."

"Oh." Mozzie lifted his eyebrows. "How many...?"

"Five." Neal paused. "Nearly six, if you count the first half glass." He frowned slightly. "Moz, are you okay?"

"Uh-huh. Cheerful as chopsticks. Why?"

"As..." Neal shook his head, seeming to decide not to even ask. "You're just grinning in a strange way. And... You _have_ had a lot of wine."

"So?" Mozzie asked, drawing out the word.

"Never mind," Neal muttered. He slid his own glass of wine away from himself. It was his first, and he'd not had much of it. For one, it wasn't actually the best wine. And he needed to concentrate. He turned a page on the case file that was in front of him.

"Suit has you busy," Mozzie said, leaning toward Neal.

"Yeah," Neal said distractedly. "The suspect is a guy who lived in Germany until last year."

"Where would you go, if you could go anywhere in the world?" Mozzie asked abruptly. Neal looked up from his "homework", his blue eyes holding confusion.

"Where did that come from?"

"Well, you mention'd Germany, 'nd it made me think about trav'ling, so..." Mozzie stopped, his hands moving as he tried to explain how his thoughts had moved. He dropped them to the table in frustration. "Just answer th' question."

"Wherever Kate is," Neal said without hesitation. Mozzie rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I shoulda guessed that one." He rubbed the side of his scalp.

"What about you?"

"Huh?" Mozzie asked slowly.

"Where would _you _go?"

"Oh! Hmm..." Mozzie looked up at the ceiling with a deeply thoughtful expression. "Norway."

Neal coughed. "Norway."

"Yeah, Norway. It's great, see, 'cause no one ev'r goes there for fun, so it's not where people'd look for you. And it's bea- bee- i's pretty, from what I've heard."

"Okay..." Neal shrugged in acceptance. He quickly refocused on his task, analyzing the folder. All was silent for a moment, then Mozzie ended the quiet.

"Two households, both alike in dignity," Mozzie said in a singsong voice, tilting from side to side. "In fair Verona, where we lay our scene-"

Neal jumped slightly at the interruption, and watched his friend.

"Why on Earth are you _singing_ Romeo and Juliet?" Neal muttered, not expecting Mozzie to hear him. He didn't, and kept right on going through the prologue, his voice getting louder and more singsong as he went. "For that matter, _how _are you singing Romeo and Juliet when you couldn't even pronounce 'beautiful?' "

"A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows," Mozzie sang, his voice rising and falling almost comically.

If Mozzie had noticed Neal's face, amused and disturbed at the same time, he would've been quiet right then and there, and silently sat for the rest of the evening.

But, as previously established, Mozzie was beyond noticing things in his present state.

"The which if you with patient ears attend," Mozzie continued, practically falling out of his chair, "What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to-" He stopped suddenly, getting a strange look on his face.

"You okay?" Neal asked, concerned.

"I don't-" Mozzie slumped forward. Neal quickly leaned forward and caught his older friend by the arms. Neal shook his head, allowing a smile to appear on his face.

"And this, Moz," Neal said, lifting his friend with some effort onto his couch, "is why you don't overdo it on alcohol." He tossed a blanket over Mozzie's unconscious form and went back to his file reading.

"Mend," Mozzie muttered from the couch, finishing his recitation. Neal stifled a laugh as he sat down in his chair, leaning back and continuing his work.

"Only you, Mozzie. Only you."


	15. Octopus

Kate Moreau contemplated the hand that was wrapped firmly around hers, walking side-by-side with her blue-eyed, dark-haired companion. She felt torn between her usual alert, wary state, and the desire to give in and relax, and enjoy her date with Neal. 

"Are you okay?" Neal asked gently, glancing down at her as he kept walking. His eyes were concerned. He could always tell when something was bothering her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Kate said, half-shrugging. Neal was quiet for a moment. "Where are we going?" Kate asked, wanting to change the subject.

"It's a surprise, remember?" He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Kate rolled her eyes.

"Because I _love _surprises," she said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow to make sure Neal knew she was kidding. He was usually good at reading people, but Kate noticed that with her, he couldn't always tell. She didn't quite know if it was because she was exceptional at hiding things, or because he was blinded by love. _Probably both_, she decided.

"You'll like this one," Neal promised with a gentle, happy smile. It was that smile she really loved. It wasn't at all... planned, it was sincerely pleased, casual, affectionate.

"I'm trusting you," Kate said, half in warning, half in amusement.

"You won't regret it." Neal's eyes lit up with excitement as he looked up ahead. "Okay, close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes," Neal said with a slightly boyish smile. "It'll be fun. I won't run you into anything."

"I don't know," Kate muttered, but she obligingly closed her eyes. "You'd better not."

"I won't," Neal repeated simply, keeping a hold on one of her hands while carefully guiding her with his free hand. "We're almost there." Kate found she very much disliked the feeling of helplessness, of being blind to the world while still being in it. Though, if anyone was to lead her through, she decided, it should be Neal. She heard a door open and close as they went through it, felt the rush of warmer air as they stepped into a building.

"Can I open them yet?" She asked, bemused but slightly impatient.

"Not yet," Neal said. "Soon."

"Welcome," a man's voice said, "to-" He stopped abruptly. Kate decided Neal must've asked him to. She felt Neal reach into his coat pocket and pull something out. A moment later the man told them to go ahead inside.

"We're almost there," Neal said quietly, a smile in his voice. Kate shrugged.

"I'll admit, I'm intrigued." She stumbled on a slight step, and Neal's firm arms quickly caught her and brought her back up.

"Okay..." Neal said slowly, positioning her in a certain way. "Now, open them." Kate slowly opened her eyes, and they were met by a spectacular aquarium.

"Wow," Kate breathed as she took it in. Fish swam lazily through colorful plants, creating ripples in the smooth blue water. She looked right in front of her and flashing tentacles caught her eye.

"Is that...?" She started to ask.

"It is," Neal said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer to himself. They watched as the octopus drifted over a rock, almost ethereal.

"How did you know?" Kate asked with a puzzled, delighted laugh as she looked at the odd animal that had been her favorite since childhood. "I never told you."

"I have my ways," Neal said with a slightly mischievous, mysterious grin.

"I should've guessed that," Kate said ruefully. She let out a sigh and leaned her head against his shoulder, looking up at him for a moment. The soft blue aquarium lights illuminated his dark hair and pale face, making him seem to glow.

"Thank you, Neal," she whispered. "This is amazing."

"You're welcome," he said simply, giving her a sideways hug. He looked down at her with a smile, his eyes showing how much he cared for her. "I'm glad you like it."

"I do," she said quietly. He pulled her closer, and she smiled softly, her head resting against his chest.

"Happy birthday, Kate. I love you." It was said simply, gently, sincerely. Kate nodded slightly, listening to the quiet beating of his heart.

"I love you, too."


	16. Prank

_A/N: So, in a rare event, this short is connected to another story I wrote. It isn't totally necessary to read it. I think it'll be understandable without it. But if you haven't read it, and you want the backstory, go 'head! .net/s/5870170/1/Joys_of_Spring Also, I'd like to thank those who have reviewed steadily through the whole time, and recently. Ultracape, Ursula4x, j3nnee, peppe1951, Kiki Cabou, nicedisguise, Wondo, WayLowHalo, aloha94, csigurl-101, Shoen, epicpickleninja, and Anna! Speaking of which, thank you for your latest review, since I can't reply to you with . I'm glad you guys seem to think I'm doing well with these. I asked Shelby to "just give me a random word for each letter of the alphabet." She emailed them to me without knowing what they were for. Boy, are they random! But it's been fun writing them. Wow... Sorry this is so long, proceed with the story._

Neal Caffrey was unsettled.

It had now been exactly seven days since April First, and Peter hadn't done anything whatsoever to retaliate for Neal's "April Fools' Day Joke." In fact, Peter had come back to the office in a good mood. He hadn't once mentioned the prank, or seemed at all sleep-deprived from Neal changing his clocks forward four hours in honor of the holiday.

This was beginning to be worrisome. Neal knew-absolutely _knew_-that Peter Burke had not forgotten. Nor had he forgiven. However, the longer time went on, the less able Neal was to guess how, when, or where the counter-attack would come. It made him slightly _jumpy_, as much as he tried to hide that fact.

"Good morning," Peter said absently, walking into his office. It was odd for Peter to arrive _after _Neal. Every little thing that Peter did now stood out unusually to Neal. He had almost spoken to Mozzie about it several times, but Mozzie would simply see it as what was supposed to be present-paranoia. His friend still didn't really trust "the Suit", as Mozzie called Peter. Neal had accepted that. Moz had been a con for a lot longer than Neal had, so it was deeply ingrained into Mozzie to be careful who he trusted.

"Morning, Peter," Neal replied with a resolutely carefree smile. "How're you?"

"Fine," Peter said with a shrug, setting a file on his desk. A moment later he looked back up at Neal. "You?"

"Oh, I'm good," Neal said, mimicking Peter's shrug.

"That's good," Peter said, still with a not-all-here quality to his voice.

"Anything happening today?" Neal asked, picking up several paperclips from Peter's desk and bending them.

"Don't touch those," Peter said, reaching over the desk to rescue the office supplies from Neal's grasp. "And, to answer your question, yes. We are going to a museum to investigate a possible forgery."

"When?"

"Soon," Peter said. "Be patient." Something in the FBI agent's tone of voice suggested just how impossible he believed that to be. Neal gave Peter his most winning grin and leaned back in the chair, simply to show that he was capable of patience. Which he was. The flowers he folded took patience, the heists he'd arranged in the past had taken patience, and sitting in prison for four years had _definitely _taken patience.

"Okay," Peter said a few minutes later, casting Neal a slightly surprised glance. It seemed that he really hadn't been expecting any degree of quiet waiting. Neal followed him out of the glass office and down the stairs, getting into the Taurus. Neal discreetly checked the car seat, floor, and door before sitting down, hoping Peter wouldn't notice.

It didn't seem like he had, but a few minutes later, at a particularly long red light, Peter grinned. He'd moved his hand abruptly to the radio, and this sudden movement had caused Neal to flinch slightly.

Peter turned his head toward Neal. If Neal hadn't known better, he would've sworn that he detected something almost...mischievous in the agent's brown eyes.

"So, it's working," Peter said with another grin.

"What's working?" Neal asked, but he immediately began to suspect.

"My plan." Peter continued when Neal remained silent. "You pranked me, you expected me to prank you back. So, I didn't." Neal rested his head against the headrest, turning his head to look at Peter, whose face was sporting a half-smile and triumphant look.

"Really. How original." Though he would never admit it, Neal was innerly quite surprised. He hadn't expected Peter to be so...conniving.

"Cliché or not," Peter said with a shrug of confidence. "It worked. Tell me it didn't." Neal was silent, and Peter let out a short laugh.

"Well," Peter said, "that'll teach you to mess with my timepieces." Neal coughed, his eyebrows raising. _Timepieces?_

"Yeah, that'll about do it." Neal felt ashamed of his inability to have spotted Peter's scheme, but decided to let it go. "I think we're even."

"Yep," Peter agreed. "Definitely even."

The rest of the trip to the Museum passed in content quiet.

_Being even_ felt good.


	17. Q Tip

With a bleary look in his eyes, Peter Burke walked down his stairs, holding to the railing to keep himself from tripping. 

"Careful," he muttered hoarsely. He had slept for over fourteen hours and felt no less exhausted. He found his kitchen empty-as expected-but a pink paper on the counter caught his eye. He picked it up and read his wife's cursive writing. 

_I had to get to a last-minute planning meeting for my event tomorrow. Sorry I wasn't here when you woke up. I was able to grab some groceries. There's some canned soup in the bag if you're hungry. I hope you're feeling better. Love you!_

Peter smiled, feeling a bit more awake. Rummaging in one of two plastic grocery sacks, he found a can of chicken noodle soup. He fumbled with the pull-top lid, grateful that Elizabeth had bought one that didn't require a can opener.

"Good job," he told himself encouragingly, nodding. After getting the soup into a bowl (without spilling, he was rather proud to note), Peter took a careful spoonful and gagged.

"You might want to try heating it up first," an amused voice said from the kitchen doorway. Peter dropped his soup in surprise winced as the thick glass bowl broke into several large pieces.

"_Neal_," Peter said with a withering glance. Then something occurred to him. "How long have you been there?" Neal shifted his position to lean against the doorway, shrugging.

"Long enough to hear you talk to yourself," Neal said, grinning. "Which, by the way Peter, I didn't expect of you." Peter rolled his eyes, but it turned into a wince as his head throbbed. He let out a noise of pain that he quickly covered with a cough. Neal tilted his head to one side and he quickly lost his grin. "You feeling any better?"

"Yeah," Peter lied, his voice still hoarse. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Neal said. His face was shadowed, but his voice held concern. He moved from the doorway to the counter smoothly. "What can I do?"

"Clean up the mess, for starters," Peter said with a half-grateful, half-exasperated expression. "That was a nice bowl."

"I'm sorry," Neal said dutifully, fishing a towel out of one of their drawers then starting to clean up the soup. He glanced up from where he was now kneeling. "It's on... your shirt, too." Peter looked down and cursed.

"I should change it, then," he said. He flashed Neal a weak smile. "Thanks for coming over." Neal looked embarrassed and shrugged, staring at the floor.

"Yep," he said softly, then regained his usual cheeky grin. "I couldn't very well leave you here to self-destruct, could I?"

"Guess not," Peter said, smiling. He coughed a few times, then shook his head. "Be back in a minute." Peter walked upstairs.

He woke up several hours later with his shirt on backwards, still as dirty as ever. Peter rolled his eyes. Being sick didn't agree with him. He pulled on a clean shirt and walked downstairs, intending to take an aspirin. He saw an upside-down grocery bag on the counter, concealing something tall. He was about to lift it up when he saw a note next to the bag. He read Neal's neat handwriting, smiling.

_Dear Peter_,

_I guess you fell asleep or something. I got bored waiting after a while, so I left. I forgot to tell you that June sent me over with some of your favorite coffee and some of _my _favorite cinnamon rolls. _I _didn't get one. They're on the counter, try not to drop them. Things are sort of dull without you breathing down my neck at work, so get better fast. Hopefully your _special gift _brightens your day. It's a Neal Caffrey original._

_XOXO_

_Neal_

Peter laughed at Neal's signature, which he had now discovered was the ex-con's typical way to sign his notes to Peter. He glanced up to find that there were indeed some cinnamon rolls and a thermos of coffee on the counter. With slight apprehension he lifted the plastic grocery bag to find a very accurate eiffel tower constructed entirely of Q-Tips. A tiny note underneath it read, _Built in honor of Peter Burke, FBI, who is now out of both Q-Tips and Crazy Glue._

_Thanks, Neal, _Peter thought, grinning as he moved the tower to an empty shelf and put the note in a drawer. It had.

_A/N: So, we have Sick!Peter and more of Good Friend!Neal. Did they seem in character to you guys? Thoughts?_


	18. Rachel

As he leaned back into his chair, Peter Burke grinned. 

"Yes, it was certainly... interesting," he agreed as he'd finished relating a story about an early case. Elizabeth smiled.

"I remember you coming home after that. You were so irritated about the whole thing."

"Yeah, well..." Peter shrugged. The brief silence was broken by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

"You should really lock your front door," a cheerful, amused voice came from the doorway. "This _is _New York, you know. Unsavory characters could just waltz right in."

"With you being...?" With a skeptical look, Peter turned to see Neal Caffrey round the corner in a manner that could easily have been considered waltz-like.

"Don't you ever knock?" He asked in mock-irritation. Neal shrugged ambiguously.

"When I feel like it." Neal looked around their living room and his gaze settled on the couch.

"Hello," Neal said, smiling at the extra person sitting there. "I don't believe we've met."

"Oh, I'm Rachel," the woman said, standing up with a grin. "Rachel Harris." Neal accepted her handshake. Peter watched comprehension dawn on his face.

"Oh," he said with a hint of sheepishness in his nod. "Peter's sister. You're much prettier than he is."

"Thank you," Rachel said with a little laugh. She half-smiled in a way that was very much like Peter's. "And you're obviously Neal Caffrey."

Peter coughed. "Oh, obviously." Neal gave him a look that asked _what he'd been saying_.

"I've only heard good things about you," Rachel assured Neal with a smile. Neal looked surprised and tilted his head slightly, looking quizzically at Peter. Peter silently begged Rachel not to elaborate. Not everything he'd told Rachel was _meant_ to get back to Caffrey. He had appearances to keep up, after all. Thankfully, she did not, as she was distracted by crying from upstairs.

"Oh, that'll be Megan. I'll be right back." Rachel went up the stairs quickly.

"She has a baby?" Neal asked.

"Yeah, she does. Her husband, Mike, doesn't like me very much." Neal muttered something and coughed. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," Neal told Peter with a winning, innocent smile. Peter rolled his eyes, fighting a grin.

"Well, he doesn't. So since he's on a business trip to California, Rachel decided to take the opportunity to drive down and visit us so we could see Megan."

"I see," Neal said as Rachel came back down the stairs with a small pink bundle in her arms. Most of the baby's crying had subsided, and she seemed to have fallen asleep again.

"Do you think I could hold my adorable niece?" Elizabeth asked with a smile. Rachel nodded quietly.

"Of course," she said, sitting down next to Elizabeth and placing Megan in her arms. The tiny brunette squirmed for a moment before settling down, and Elizabeth looked down at the baby with a happy, warm glow on her face.

"How old is she again?" El asked, touching the infant's face softly with one finger.

"A little over a month."

"She's so precious," Elizabeth said. Peter felt a pang as he watched how easily El held the baby and how happy she looked as she smiled down at her. Neal took a seat in one of the armchairs in their living room and looked on silently, his expression neutral and pleasant. The two women began a conversation about an event that Elizabeth was planning. The two were very close, since Rachel had no female siblings, and Elizabeth loved her like a sister.

"I'm glad you came to visit," Peter said a few minutes later during a lull in conversation. Elizabeth looked up at Peter with a smile.

"I'm glad, too," Rachel said. She looked at Elizabeth, who nodded. Peter was still mystified by this apparent silent form of communication. "You can hold him now, if you want." Peter nodded, smiling.

"Sure," he said. Megan was gently transferred to his arms and Peter watched the gentle fluttering of the sleeping baby girl's chest. He was quiet as El and Rachel resumed their conversation. After a while, Elizabeth stood up.

"Well, I don't know about you three, but I'd like some food," she said. "I'm going to go make some lunch." She walked into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind her. Rachel gave Neal a curious look.

"You want a turn holding her while she's sleeping?" She asked. Peter's eyes flicked to Neal's face automatically to see his reaction. To most, he would have appeared the have the same expression still in place, but Peter saw a flicker in his eyes and smile. One of uncertainty and worry and slight embarrassment. Neal shrugged.

"I don't know." Peter saw his hands tighten almost imperceptibly on his knees. "I don't want to, well..." Peter hadn't seen the young man hesitate in that way before.

"Don't worry, you won't hurt her," Rachel said with a reassuring smile. "It'll be fine." Neal nodded, but Peter could see that that wasn't what was bothering him. After a moment he realized what it was. _He doesn't feel like he's the right person to hold a baby_, Peter thought, watching Neal's expression. Peter caught Neal's eye and nodded.

"You can hold her, Neal," he said. _I trust you_. The words were in his tone if not his words. And he watched Neal's shoulders relax as he nodded.

"Okay," he said in a quiet tone. Rachel put Megan in Neal's arms and smiled.

"I'm going to go use your bathroom, Petey." Peter winced at the old nickname as his little sister left the room, but Neal was too preoccupied to give one of his customary teasing comments. Peter noticed his silence and glanced over at the ex-con artist, preparing to remark on it, but he couldn't.

Neal was silently watching as Megan opened her eyes from sleeping. He gently shifted her position so that she was facing him better. She regarded him with somber, dark blue eyes as Neal's own paler blue eyes softened. A smile danced on his face as the baby opened and closed her fingers out in front of herself.

"She's pretty sweet, huh?" Peter said as Neal touched her soft, fine hair.

"She is," Neal agreed softly, then returned to silence. He seemed to have forgotten Peter's presence. As he watched Neal sit there with Megan in his arms, Peter saw a side of the young man he never had before, one that he suspected was closely guarded. It was loving, sweet, lighthearted, delighted at the simple joy of holding a child. When Rachel and Elizabeth came back in with food, Neal relinquished Megan back to her mother, managing not to look too disappointed. _Has he ever held a baby before? _Peter wondered. He'd seemed comfortable with her, but at the same time it had seemed to be a new thing for Neal.

"This is delicious, Elizabeth, thank you," Neal said as he finished a small sandwich.

"You're welcome," Elizabeth said. "I'm glad you like it." Neal grinned, leaning back into the chair. After a moment he glanced at the clock absently.

"Oh. June needs my help with a party she's hosting." Neal stood. "I guess I should go." He gave them a very charming, pleased grin and walked towards the door. "Enjoy your evening," he said as he let the door close behind him. Rachel turned to Peter with a bemused smile.

"So that was Neal Caffrey?" She asked with a small laugh. This time Peter couldn't hold back his grin.

"Yeah," Peter said, his brown eyes full of laughter and friendship. "That was Neal Caffrey."

_A/N: Yes, more fluff. I wrote this one when my baby brother was around that age, and Crazy!Me imagines Neal into most every situation I encounter. At least... some. But I digress. So, I hope you liked it. Random Fact! Yesterday was Jacob Kogan's birthday! Who is he? You'll find out soon enough._


	19. Spock

An intimidating stack of files and paperwork sat on Peter Burke's dining room table, between him and his partner. As Peter turned a page in his latest file, he heard another yawn being stifled from across the table. It wasn't one of boredom, as it would've been in the past, but rather one of exhaustion.

With a sigh, Peter looked up from his reading at Neal Caffrey, who was diligently reading and filling out information. Peter suppressed another sigh. Neal had hardly shown any sign of depression after Kate's death, indeed had been outwardly as cheerful as ever, but rather had thrown himself into work with such a determined intensity that he often accomplished more than Peter.

While Neal was still occupied with reading, Peter took the opportunity to study him. Neal was as neat as ever, but Peter could see that, underneath the facade, the young man was drop-dead tired.

"Neal." Peter set down his file. Neal jumped slightly and looked up.

"Yeah?" Neal asked with a forced smile.

"Let's call it a night."

"We still have a lot of work, though..." Neal looked hesitant to stop. Peter frowned. This was concerning, it was so unlike Neal.

"Yeah, we have time later. C'mon, you need to sleep." Neal was staying over while Elizabeth was away. Partially so they could "catch up" on work, and partially (though Neal hadn't been informed) because Peter wanted to keep an eye on him.

"I'm not tired," Neal said with a shrug. Peter managed to keep himself from laughing outright.

"Let's watch a movie then," Peter persisted, simply wanting Neal to take a break. "If I look at one more file, my brain will turn to sand." Half true, anyway.

"I guess," Neal agreed with an air half of reluctance, half of relief.

"I rented one that looks good," Peter said. "I'll go grab it."

"Okay," Neal said. Peter went upstairs into his room to get the movie and change into sweats. He heard the guest room door open and close.

Once he was changed, Peter walked back down and put the DVD in, grinning at his speaker set, which had _definitely _been worth the pains it took to get them there. He heard slow steps coming down the stairs as Neal returned, now wearing dark red sweat pants and a white t-shirt.

"You ready?" Peter asked.

"Yep."

"Great." Peter tossed an extra pillow and a few blankets onto the couch, picked up the remote, and sat down. Neal flicked off the living rooms lights and sank down next to Peter.

"What movie is it?" He asked. Peter grinned, holding up the DVD case.

"Star Trek. The new one." Neal's eyebrows rose.

"You haven't seen that yet?" Peter shook his head slowly.

"It hasn't been out _that _long. You have?"

"Yeah, I went to see it in theater with Moz. We used to watch the original series together sometimes." Peter rose one eyebrow at the large amount of volunteered information.

"I wouldn't have pegged you as a Trekkie." Neal's brilliant blue-green eyes flashed with mixed amusement and nostalgia.

"I'd say I'm more of a _casual admirer__,_" he said with a tired smile. Peter nodded.

"Fair enough." He glanced at the case.

"You mind watching it again?"

"Nah," Neal said, shaking his head. "It's a good movie. I like this Spock better than the original one." Peter restrained a laugh. Yes, this tired form of Neal Caffrey was definitely more open.

"Yeah," Peter agreed vaguely, pressing play. The introductory scene began, and the movie played out. About half way through, Peter felt something heavy descend on his shoulder, but he was too engrossed to do anything.

"I can see why you like this Spock better," Peter commented quietly after the movie ended. He glanced over to find that the weight on his shoulder was, in fact, Neal's head. The young man's eyes were closed in a peaceful sleep. Peter smiled. He pulled a blanket over Neal and moved off the couch, replacing his shoulder with a pillow.

Peter gently brushed Neal's dark brown hair away from his face, smiling."I guess you were tired after all, kid."

_A/N: So, not exactly sure when White Collar is set (year-wise) but just suspend disbelief and pretend Star Trek: 2009 was out. It, by the way, is an awesome movie. That's why I ended up with this prompt from Shelby- she loves the movie, especially Spock. The young Spock is adorable! (That's who Jacob Kogan is, he plays young Spock. He's fifteen as of two days ago.) Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


	20. Terrible

It was a gloomy, cloudy Thursday afternoon, and FBI agent Peter Burke was less than thrilled with his consultant partner. Since early that morning, when they had entered FBI Headquarters, Neal Caffrey had been either clicking and scribbling with pens or spinning incessantly in the office chair.

So it was that when Hughes came in with a message to meet in the conference room, Peter couldn't help but be relieved.

Until the meeting began, and Neal's air of restlessness persisted.

"Caffrey," Peter whispered, nudging Neal's side. "Sit still."

"Sorry," Neal whispered back with an apologetic look Peter didn't _quite _accept as genuine. He at least sat silently for a moment.

"Burke," Hughes said when he was through explaining. "I want you, Cruz. and Jones to et down there. Neal raised his hand and Hughes turned a withering look on him. "And Caffrey." Neal lowered his hand with a slight smile.

"We'll get right on it," Peter said. The three FBI agents and the one consultant climbed into the large white van that was generally used for surveillance.

"So, Neal," Jones said, "do you think it was an inside job?"

Neal shrugged. "It depends on what was stolen."

Peter gave Neal a look. "Hughes _said _what was stolen."

"He did?" Neal asked, obviously puzzled.

"Yes," Peter said exasperatedly. "Twice."

"Oh." Neal had the grace to look sheepish for a moment, then looked at Peter inquiringly.

"Money," Peter said after a pause.

"How much?"

"Pretty much everything they had," Jones said. "They kept it in their house. Mistrust of banks."

"It's always those types that get robbed," Lauren remarked.

"Kind of ironic," Jones agreed.

"Well," Neal said with a grin. "It might have been an inside job, then. I'll know more once I see the crime scene."

"Wonderful," Peter said drily. They pulled up to the address and filed out. The house appeared to be nice and fairly spacious. A young mother was sitting on the porch with a very small boy in her lap. She stood when she saw them, shifting him to her hip.

"Peter Burke, FBI." Peter showed his badge and extended his hand.

"Elaine Thomson," the woman said, shaking Peter's hand. Her vivid green eyes showed a mix of relief and continued worry. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Do you mind showing us the crime scene?" Peter asked.

"Sure." Elaine nodded, her short red curls bouncing. She led them through her front doors. "It's upstairs." They followed her up a pale, carpeted staircase. Peter glanced at his partner and saw Neal looking around, impressed. Peter rolled his eyes silently.

"In here," Elaine told them as she opened a wooden door. They were admitted through into a large, well-furnished bedroom. It appeared tidy until they saw the northern wall, which was a mess with paintings strewn on the floor and a few dents in the wall.

"No one was home when it happened, thank heavens. Mark had just gone to work and the kids and I were... at the hospital." Peter noticed a catch in her voice.

Neal walked towards the wall with latex gloves on. He gently lifted the edge of one painting with a cracked frame from the ground and looked dismayed.

"This is an original Renoir," he said to himself, righting it. Peter gave him a look to say _now isn't the time_.

Lauren walked to the open, empty silver safe and glanced inside.

"How much did you have in here?" She asked.

"A half million," Elaine said softly. "I... we probably should've split it up, but we'd heard too many stories about bank robberies." She looked like she was going to cry, her eyes filling with tears. Peter, as previously proven, was not good with crying women. So he was grateful when Neal stepped over and set a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Is your husband at work now?" Neal asked with an encouraging smile. Elaine shook her head, recovering herself.

"No, he's at the hospital with Laurie and Grace." This was the second time she'd mentioned the hospital.

"Is someone in your family sick?" Neal asked gently, apparently having the same thought process.

"Laurie is," Elaine said.

"Laurie's your daughter?" Peter clarified.

"Yes," she said shakily. "She's nine. She... she has leukemia. She was supposed to start treatment, but now-" her voice broke and her little boy clung to her shoulder, upset my his mother's almost-tears.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said, knowing the words were empty. "We'll get forensics down here, and we're going to do everything we can."

"Thank you," came the quiet response. Peter nodded encouragingly. He glanced at Neal to see the young man facing away from them, his shoulders tight. Peter made a decision.

"I'm going to make a call. Caffrey," he said, causing the consultant to turn. Peter caught a glimpse of his troubled expression before he slipped on one of his many masks. "You come with me."

"Okay," Neal said without any objections. They left Lauren and Jones to talk to Elaine and walked back down the stairs. Peter discreetly watched Neal, curious as to what had caused this sudden shift in mood.

"Sit there," Peter said, gesturing to the porch bench. Neal obeyed silently, his expression still unreadable.

"Hello," Peter said into his phone, turning away. "D'you think you could send forensics over here, sir?" A pause. "Okay. Yes. Thank you, sir." Peter slid the phone back into his pocket and sat down on the bench beside Neal.

"Now, what's wrong?" He looked over at Neal and saw surprise register on his face for a split-second before it was covered.

"What do you mean?"

"Cut the crap. Something happened to make you suddenly this way. What?"

"Well..." Neal sighed heavily, staring at the concrete. Peter watched him expectantly. Neal's gaze lifted from the pavement to meet Peter's, blue and full of pain and confusion.

"It's nothing, just- in there, with the robbery, and their daughter, and I-" Neal stopped, looking down with an air of hopelessness.

Once, Peter would've interpreted this to mean that Neal himself had committed the robbery. Now, the young man's turmoil meant something completely different.

"I know," Peter said, setting a steadying hand on Neal's shoulder. "It's upsetting. Criminals hurt people, even if it isn't physically."

"Yeah," Neal said quietly. "It's terrible." He flashed Peter a brief, grateful look before standing abruptly, his expression shifting back into one of pleasant, calm blankness. Peter saw this and both marveled and mourned at the man's ability to conceal his emotions.

As they returned to the room, Peter thought it appeared that an unseen wight had descended on Neal, all but unnoticeable to others.

_This was the first time he really stopped and realized what kind of effects his cons had on others._ Peter truly believed that Neal hadn't thought he was doing harm, or wanted to cause pain. The kid just liked being the best. He'd conned for the thrill of outsmarting the system, because he _could_ do it. Not out of malice or greed.

And now that he'd seen the reality of what he'd done, it appeared to disturb him, however well he might have hidden it.

Before they reentered the room, Peter stopped Neal quietly.

"It'sterrible," Peter agreed. "But now you've got a chance to do something about it. Take it." Neal nodded, a tiny bit of hope appearing in his eyes.

"I will." They walked back into the room.

_A/N: You get this one a little early since I'm going to be gone tomorrow. Hope it isn't too OOC._


	21. Ubiquitous

_This is stupid. _Eleven-year-old Reese Hughes was sitting on the stone fence by a slightly run-down playground, tossing a baseball from hand to hand absently. His sixth-grade teacher, Miss Johnson, liked giving out weird homework. Lately, she'd been dishing out assignments to write paragraphs with a topic word. The word was almost always one no used outside of genius colleges or something.

This week's word only proved that point. No one in the sixth grade had ever heard the word _ubiquitous_ before. Miss Johnson had "nicely" explained what it meant: Present or appearing everywhere, or widespread. Reese let the baseball rest in one hand for a moment. He could hardly _pronounce _the word, let alone find something to write a paragraph on using it. He rolled his eyes, resuming his tossing of his baseball.

"Dogs are," he said to himself. "People are." But those answers weren't exactly creative, and creativity was what his teacher wanted. Reese let out an explosive sigh. It was getting dark and he needed to get home. Being grounded on top of dumb schoolwork wouldn't help anything. He hopped off the fence and started to walk toward his home.

The street lamps hadn't yet turned on, so the road was dark and shadowless, aside from very dim ones cast by the thin crescent moon. Reese heard a rustle in the bushes to the side of the road from him and his grip tightened on his baseball.

_Cut it out, you big baby_, he reprimanded himself. _What are you, five? _He continued walking through a stretch with no houses, only fields of real estate on either side of the road. Subconsciously, he began to walk faster. He always hated walking on this part of the road home, though he'd never admit it to anyone. The same slight noise repeated itself in bushes a few feet behind him and he gritted his teeth.

_Almost there. Almost there. _The houses started again a little way in front of him. He continued repeating this mantra in his head, walking quickly, until a twig snapped behind him. He froze in place, turning around involuntarily. A cold breeze ruffled through his sandy red-blonde hair, making him shiver. There was nothing suspicious in the space behind him, but the bushes could've been concealing any number of things.

_Just run,_ he told himself. He fought a stupid itch to go explore the noise, but he decided not to after a moment of debate. With an exhale of tense worry, he turned back towards the looming houses and started walking again. After a moment footsteps began to echo his in the now dark night. This was definitely _not _his imagination.

His breath quickening, he started to run. A cold hand grabbed his wrist and wrenched it, spinning him around roughly. A dark-eyed stare fixed him through a mask. He struggled and cried out. The masked man felt his jeans pocket and pulled out the money he'd earned from a _lot_ of work. He'd been planning to go to the store before he'd been distracted by his schoolwork.

"Hey! Let me go!" Reese tried to pull his wrist away. A light flicked on in the nearest house. The man hit him on the jaw with his spare hand, sending Reese sprawling to the hard pavement. Reese heard quick footsteps running away. His head reeling, Reese tried to lift himself from the cement.

"Ow!" His left arm gave out when he put weight on it. A gentle pair of arms lifted him up. He looked up and saw Mrs. Morgan. She appeared to be surrounded by a white blur, but Reese thought it might've just been him.

"Now, Reese Hughes, what are you doing out here?" She asked, apparently not wanting an answer. She dusted him off and gently touched his jaw. With a tutting sound, she began leading him toward his house. "It's scum like that that should be put away for good! Attacking young boys. Really!" Her flaming red hair was in curlers, bouncing as she shook her head.

"Thanks," he muttered as they reached his front porch. "I can go in."

"Alright. You tell your folks hello. And put some ice on that bruise." Reese nodded.

"Okay." He felt rather numb and distant, his head still spinning from the punch. He held his left arm awkwardly to his chest and walked in. After his parents finished first worrying over him and fixing him up, then scolding him, Reese was left in his room. In spite of his getting beat up, he was, in fact, grounded for a week. As he sat down on his bed, Reese suddenly had an idea. He moved to his writing desk and picked up a pencil.

The next morning, complete with a bright purple bruise and bandaged arm, he happily handed in his paragraph. It began with the following words: _Crime is ubiquitous. _

And that was the day that Reese Hughes decided he wanted to be a police officer.

_A/N: So, where that story (and the prompt!) came from, I'll never really know. My brain processes are strange. Thank you for all your reviews! I'm sad there are only five stories left after this... *sniffle* It's been fun. So, who thinks little Reese Hughes is adorable? Raise of hands!_


	22. Vexing

From the moment Elizabeth had heard Neal Caffrey's name, she had decided to dislike him. Every moment her husband spent chasing Caffrey was a moment spent _away_ from her, and goodness knew there were enough of those already. Often times during those years of cat-and-mouse, Peter would be gone all day, and even when he was home he wasn't _really_ home.

One weekend he'd brought home a thick stack of case files full of Caffrey's _alleged _crimes. The folders also included a photo. Elizabeth had looked at Caffrey's smug, vexingly charming _grin_ and cocky blue eyes, and had felt her dislike of the con man increase.

The worst time had probably been when Peter was assigned to go to Florida after him. It had been almost a week-long trip, and had coincided with her birthday. She'd felt pretty pathetic about how upset she was. Then, on the morning of her birthday, a delivery of her favorite white lilies had arrived. For a moment she felt thrilled, thinking Peter had taken the time to send them. Then she read the pale blue card.

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Sorry I had to keep Peter away on your birthday. _

_I hope you have a good one._

_Neal Caffrey_

Her excitement was quickly replaced by anger and indignation. Who did the guy think he was? Her feelings were improved only slightly when Peter had returned. He was preoccupied, but at least with a gift and a few moments where Caffrey didn't have front seats in his mind.

With all of this to consider, she really should've been happy when Peter finally caught Caffrey and put him away in the Super Max. But, somehow, she wasn't. She could see that Peter wasn't _really_ happy either. At first he was simply proud, and relieved, but than for a while he just looked sad and slightly disappointed.

"He's twenty-eight years old, El," he'd said to her. "And he'd probably the most brilliant, talented_-_" he glanced at her with a slight smile, "_man _I've ever met." He'd let out a sigh and leaned against his shoulder, holding his warm hand. "He could do so much _good._"

The young man had sent them cards on special occasions; birthdays, anniversaries. And each time he opened one, Elizabeth saw that same sad look in Peter's eyes. Then he'd be preoccupied again, sometimes for days. During those days Elizabeth felt the dislike return again with a vengeance.

Eventually, Caffrey sort of faded into the background. Peter was no more involved in work than normal, and Elizabeth was content.

Until almost four years later, when she went downstairs one night to find Peter sitting at the table, looking over everything he had from Caffrey.

With prickling irritation she'd listened to Peter tell her about the con's latest escapade. She was surprised to learn that Caffrey had basically bought himself another four years in prison, all to try to find the woman he loved when he knew there was virtually no chance of actually finding her. A new feeling toward the man opened up, and she actually _defended _him to Peter. Then Peter introduced the concept of the "work release" program to her. It hit her in the stomach like a punch. Images of those three lonely years passed through her mind.

A few days after that, early in the morning, she'd answered the door to find a smiling face looking back at her. In a split second of curious analyzation, she saw things that no picture or words on a paper could ever show or tell her.

His grin wasn't _really _smug, and the charm it held was real, though she discerned an uncertainty in it. He had a look in his bright blue eyes that begged her to like him, to accept him, but was prepared to be disliked and rejected. He was handsome, oh, certainly, and he knew it. But he had an air of polite respect about him, too. She curled one hand into a fist behind her, resolving not to let any of those things change her opinion.

"Good morning," she said flatly.

"Good morning, Mrs. Burke," Caffrey said with a smile that held a hint of sheepishness. He paused. "Is Peter here?" Elizabeth nodded stiffly.

"He's upstairs."

"Oh. Well," he hesitated, something she would've thought to be uncharacteristic of the man. "I have something important to show him, with the case, but I don't want to- bother him." Elizabeth felt curious in spite of herself.

"That Dutchman case he's been working on?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes," Caffrey said simply. "I'll come back later, I guess. Bye, Mrs. Burke, sorry to interrupt your morning." The dark-haired young man started to leave. A step later, he spun slowly to face her again. "And," he paused again, his face holding genuine remorse. "I'm sorry for... everything else." _The long days spent alone, the dates forgotten. _He turned away, an almost _forlorn _slump in his shoulders. Elizabeth's forgiving, loving nature kicked in as she felt her heart melt. He was just a bright, talented, lonely, _criminally inclined_ young man.

"Neal," Elizabeth said. It felt strange to say. For nearly seven years he'd been present in her home, an unseen influence that was acknowledged only as _Caffrey. _"Do you want to come in? Peter should be down soon."

Neal turned around, his expression still the same on the surface, but hopeful underneath.

"Sure," he said with a smile. He walked through the door with a sincere, "thank you." And with that he'd walked into her life and her heart before she even registered it was happening.

"Could you please pass the potatoes?" Peter asked her, jolting her out of her memories. She, Neal, and Peter sat together at the dinner table to celebrate the six-month anniversary of Peter and Neal's impromptu partnership. After passing Peter the ceramic bowl, Elizabeth looked at Neal and saw a reminiscent look in his eyes as well. She wondered if he was reliving the same moments. She caught his eye and he flashed her a smile. A _real _smile, of the sort she'd only seen a few times.

Elizabeth picked up her fork and took a bite of the chocolate cake Neal had brought from June. The light, rich flavor melted on her tongue.

"This is delicious," she told Neal. Another smile lit his face.

"I'll tell June's cook," he said. "She'll be glad. Apparently she invented the recipe herself."

"Mmf mhmm mmm," Peter said with a full mouth and an exaggerated expression. Elizabeth and Neal shot him a bewildered look in unison. There was a moment of silence, then Peter swallowed, and they all burst into laughter.

If someone had told her that, one day, she would be eating dinner, and actually _enjoying _herself with Neal Caffrey (vexing grin and all), she would've told them they were crazy. But as she looked around, seeing happiness written on the face of her husband and their friend, she found that that was exactly what was happening.

And she decided she liked it.

_A/N: OOC at all? For some reason I was never satisfied with this one when I wrote it... On a happier topic, there are only 41 days until White Collar s2 premiers! Everyone should be religiously following Jeff Eastin on twitter, as he posts awesome pictures and promos! The s2 promo is on youtube, and it's awesome. Thank you for all your kind reviews so far! I love them so much!_


	23. Whining

_A/N: Because we just couldn't leave Jones out of the fun. Several of you have said you imagine Neal being great with kids. I do too. Hopefully this sort of captures this!_

"Uncle Clinton?" A young, high-pitched voice asked from the back of FBI Agent Clinton Jones's car. 

"Yes?" He responded.

"How long till we get there?" Clinton released a soft sigh, half of exasperation, half of affection.

"We'll be there soon. Probably less than five minutes."

"Okay," the little girl said with an air of long-suffering patience. Clinton smiled in the rearview mirror at the girl. Ashley was just like her mother. She'd requested to come to work with "Uncle Clinton", and he'd been slightly surprised when he'd gotten permission from Hughes to bring his niece to work for a brief morning, since it had been a slow week.

"Now, remember," he said as they got out of the car. Ashley continued his sentence, rolling her eyes slightly.

"Don't be loud, don't touch anything, don't bother anyone. People are _working_." She smiled slightly. "My mom told me already."

"Well, she's right," Clinton said, squeezing her shoulder. "But that doesn't mean it won't be fun. Or... at least interesting." He really didn't think that the seven-year-old would have much _fun _in the FBI headquarters. Or be able to follow her mother's guidelines for very long.

Which was where the "interesting" part came in. Clinton walked his niece up to the door, breath fogging in the cool morning air. Ashley insisted _loudly _upon pressing each elevator button they needed to, and Clinton began to think that the visit might go worse than he expected.

Ashley was quiet for the first little while, watching people do their jobs or coloring as she sat at his Clinton's desk.

"Uncle Clinton?" She asked him, her voice thankfully quiet. He didn't immediately respond. "Uncle Clinton? I'm _bored_," she said in a whining tone, drawing out the word. Clinton let out a breath, unsure of how to deal with this.

"I know the feeling," an amused voice said from behind them. Clinton jumped then gave a small smile.

"You gotta stop doing that. It's bad for my heart."

"There's nothing wrong with your heart, Uncle Clinton," Ashley said with a puzzled look, then turned around to see who had come up behind them. Her eyes scanned Neal Caffrey up and down. "Who are you?"

"I'm Neal. Neal Caffrey. And you are?"

"I'm not supposed to give my name to strangers," Ashley said with all the self-importance a seven-year-old can have.

"I see." Neal grinned at her. "Well, if it's okay with your uncle, I have something you could help me with."

"Yeah," Clinton said, flashing Neal a grateful look. "And you can tell him your name. I trust him." A flash of surprise went through Neal's eyes before he was back to his all-purpose grin.

"Okay. Bye Uncle Clinton." Ashley stood up and smiled at Neal. "I'm Ashley. Is this going to be fun, or boring?"

"I think it'll be fun," Neal said with a shrug. "Nice to meet you, Ashley."

With a muffled sigh of relief, Clinton smiled at the back of his niece and the ex-con artist. He turned back to his paperwork, which really was quite boring.

Two hours or so later, Clinton and Ashley were back in the car.

"Did you have fun with Neal?" He asked her.

"Yeah!" She said enthusiastically. "We shredded papers in this _huge _paper shredder. And he taught me a magic trick."

"A magic trick," Clinton repeated with a bemused smile. "Well, I'm glad you had fun."

"Me too. Thanks for taking me."

"You're welcome." Clinton grinned. _Thanks Neal._


	24. X Ray

A hospital could be a very frightening place. Patients everywhere who where hurt or sick, sterile white walls, and the steady beeping of a hundred unexplained machines all combined for an unwelcoming, unsettling environment.

This was especially true for an already frightened boy. He sat alone in a quiet room, with only the sounds of the crinkling white paper he sat on, and his own forcibly steadied breathing.

The sound of the door creaking open shattered the silence.

"You're Neal Caffrey?" A young, redheaded nurse asked him curiously.

"The one and only," he said with a forced smile. She laughed lightly and stepped next to the bed.

"I'm Laura." She opened up a file and clicked her pen. Neal watched her expression as she scanned the information. As it shifted from thoughtful to doubting, he predicted the question that was coming. "You're nine?" Neal nodded. He knew he didn't look it.

"Almost," Neal said with a shrug. He winced as he moved his left arm, but quickly covered it by tilting his head to one side and giving the nurse a curious smile. _Be more careful_, he reminded himself.

"Well," the nurse said, glancing up. "Let's get this show on the road." She set the file and pen down on a small table. "Before we do anything else, I'm going to give you a basic checkup, okay?"

"Yep," Neal said, unable to prevent a flicker from passing through his brilliant blue eyes.

"Don't sweat it, kid," she said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. Neal couldn't quite suppress a flinch as pain shot through his arm. The nurse's face twisted.

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry! I forgot."

"It's fine," Neal said with a lightness he didn't feel, faking an easy smile. "No worries." Laura let out a sigh.

"I'll be more careful, I promise," she said. "And I'll explain very thing as I go."

"Okay." Neal tapped the fingers of his uninjured hand against his leg silently, spelling out the alphabet slowly in the "Morse Code" he'd been teaching himself.

"First I'm just going to take your blood pressure," she said. "In this arm, of course." Neal nodded. Vaguely he remembered this, from when he'd been younger and had gone for regular checkups. Laura gently Velcro-ed the fabric around his arm and squeezed a black plastic oval in her hand. "Looks good," she said, penning it onto her chart. "Okay, just a few more things." She looked in his eyes and ears, frowning when she gently touched the bruise on his cheekbone, but thankfully asking nothing.

"I've just got to check your breathing and heart rate." Neal simply nodded again, suddenly acutely aware of just how fast his heart was racing.

"Just lean forward." Laura picked up her stethoscope. Neal obliged, shoving down his instinctive suspicion and caution. She gently lifted the back of his dark green t-shirt. He heard a sharp intake of breath and he clenched his teeth, preparing for a question.

It didn't come. Laura simply put the stethoscope into her ears. Neal flinched as cold metal touched his back. She seemed at least to have chosen a spot that wasn't visibly injured.

"Sorry," she muttered again. "Now, I need you to breathe in and out normally, then cough." Neal did as she asked. Laura proceeded to check his heart beat. As she let his shirt fall back into place and wrote down something, she smiled at him gently.

"You don't need to be nervous," she said. He returned her smile as he knew she wanted him to. "Okay, Neal. They said that your arm was the problem. Mind if I look?"

"Okay." Neal concealed his hesitance with another small smile. "I- it's probably just sprained, but we came anyway to be sure." Only because his mother had suspected it was more serious than it appeared and insisted (for once) that his father take him in.

"Alright," she said. "We'll find out." He extended his arm with an involuntary wince. she took a brief look, touching it gently, and shook her head. "I think it's broken." Neal half-nodded. Though he'd hoped otherwise, he'd expected as much.

Laura opened he door and called out. "Ben! Prep an x-ray room for me okay?" She closed the door and shrugged at Neal. "It might take a while." She pulled a stool over and sat down next to him. He saw an element of concern in he eyes and knew he _was _going to have to answer questions this time.

"Let's talk," she said, confirming his thoughts.

"About what?" He asked, giving her a curious, innocent look.

"I guess... how did you hurt your arm, exactly?"

At that moment Neal felt a hundred times older than he was. He wanted to drop the facade and tell the truth. But, instead, he forced himself to roll his eyes lightly.

"I fell down the stairs," he said in a half-truth. He saw one eyebrow come up, and she asked the follow-up question.

"And how did you get the rest of these?" She asked, gesturing vaguely to the bruise on his cheek and the ones on his back and front. This time Neal forced on a chagrined half-smile.

"Same answer," he said. "I tripped over a toy car and went all the way to the bottom." He grimaced slightly. "There was a whole pile of my stuff. That's where the bruises are from." He made himself let out a long-suffering sigh, inwardly steadying himself. "I got a big I-told-you-so from my dad for that."

And Neal saw that his answers had worked. All concern beyond the normal had vanished, and she gave him a bemused, gently reproving smile. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't break your neck." She wasn't the least bit suspicious anymore.

_And why should she be? After all, _no_ eight-year-old could lie _that_ well, and why would one ever want to, anyway?_

A blond man popped his head into the room. "X-ray room is ready. You're welcome." The head vanished as abruptly as it had come and Laura smiled.

"Only Ben. Well, let's go." She helped him up. "Do you want your parents to come in?"

"It's just my dad here. And no thanks. I'm showing him I can be brave." A smile of boyish courage tempered by just the right amount of hesitant fear was shown to Laura, while Neal fought internally against a thousand images and feelings that rained down on him.

"Okay then," Laura said with an encouraging smile. They walked silently into the x-ray room and Neal was lifted onto a new examination table.

"This will only hurt a little when I'm holding your arm," she said. "I'll be gentle."

"Okay." She carefully held his arm under an x-ray machine, rotating it for different views. She _was _pretty good at keeping it from hurting.

"Definitely broken," she said. "But it looks like a clean break. We'll get it taken care of ASAP. Can you sit here while I go let your dad know we're getting a cast on it?"

"Yes," Neal said, putting on a calm expression.

"Okay. Do you want him in here for _this_?"

"No," Neal said with a small smile. "He has bad memories with casts. I'll be okay." Two blatant lies in a row. He felt slightly guilty. The nurse had been nothing but kind to him.

"Alright, Neal." She left him alone in the half-lit room and he felt the wave of fear and uncertainty he'd been holding back crash over him. He forced himself to calm down. _It'll be okay, _he told himself. _Don't worry._

After only a few minutes of waiting, Laura was back to take him to another room where he was given a mild pain reliever and a cast was fitted onto his left arm.

About an hour later, he was standing with a light blue cast on his arm that wrapped around his wrist, almost to his elbow. After a final look-over, Laura escorted Neal back to the front lobby. His father gave him a slight smile and ruffled Neal's wavy, dark hair. Neal gritted his teeth and told Laura, "thank you."

His father didn't make any comments, pulling out a can of beer that would've gotten him in trouble had he been seen by the police. Neal leaned his head against the cool back-seat window, grateful for the silence.

As they drove away, Neal thought back to the strange machine that had been able to see everything. If only there could be a person like that, who simply had to look at Neal to know everything that was wrong.

Then there would be no more need for forced smiled or quick lies, trying to figure out what people wanted to hear. He allowed himself to ponder such a thing for a moment before he reminded himself of _the_ _truth_.

_People aren't x-rays, _he sighed mentally. _They can't see what's wrong unless you _let _them, and they'll believe whatever you tell them to. _He bit his lip to keep himself quiet, not wanting any conversations to begin. He looked out the window at the quickly darkening sky.

_If only..._

_A/N: Too depressing? It was sad to write... And I feel bad for him. And all kids who really have to deal with this sort of stuff... Also, if any of the medical procedures are wrong, feel free to let me know. I've never broken an arm, so I wouldn't know. Thanks, guys, for all your fantastic reviews. Over 100! Today is my last day of school this year. It went by fast! I'm probably going to be on a writing frenzy this summer, especially as s2 gets closer..._


	25. Yellow

Most people were cheered by yellow things; sunshine, balloons, ducklings. To them, yellow was a color of happiness and laughter.

Kate Moreau shared none of those _heartfelt _sentiments. For her, yellow represented undesirable things. It was the daytime, when heists were harder, and people hid their true natures. The color of fire, which left destruction everywhere it went. Yellow was the color of a partcularly bad bruise in its last stages of healing; the unpleasant remnant of an unpleasant experience.

So Kate was not pleased when a bright yellow ray of sunshine burst into her room and woke her up. She let out an irritated groan and turned away from the window. Her pale blue eyes snapped open, and, as they had done dozens of times now, settled on the other side of the bed. The _empty _side, where she _should've _seen a cheerful grin greeting her.

_Should've. Didn't._

Refusing to let herself linger in self-pity, Kate pushed the comforter off and shivered as cold air hit her. She swung her legs out of bed, her gaze fliting involuntarily to the picture on her bedside table. It was of her and Neal, standing in front of the Statue of Liberty. The familiar, empty, sinking feeling returned to her stomach and she looked away. It only made things worse. She should've taken it down.

_Should've. Hadn't._

Kate took a steaming-hot shower and poured herself a bowl of cereal in silence. She looked around, not really _seeing_ anything until her eyes fell upon the calendar. The date she'd tried to forget.

_Tried. Failed._

Her birthday. The first that she and Neal had spent apart since they'd met. Neal made a big deal out of her birthdays. Though he'd never told her exactly _why_, she suspected it had to do with him never having had real birthday celebrations when he'd been young, and wanting to make up for it now with her. In the past, he'd always succeeded. She remembered wistfully the time he'd taken her to the aquarium, the time they'd gone to the Museum of Modern Art and then had a quiet, candlelit dinner. Those were moments she treasured, when they'd stopped all the craziness and just been happy. As time went, she had to fight harder and harder to keep the memories from fading away.

_Remembered. Forgotten._

Kate pushed the bowl away from herself and rested her head on her arms. The complete, _stifling_ silence of the apartment was broken by the doorbell ringing.

"Go away," she muttered. The intruder didn't hear her, following up the ring with a loud knock. With a sigh of frustration, Kate stood up and answered the door.

"Good morning," a brightly smiling young man said. "I'm supposed to deliver these." He thrust a vase into her arms. "Have a nice day!" Kate closed the door in his face and set the vase on the table. The flowers were roses- her favorite and they were a soft, yet still bright shade of yellow.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

She sat back down at the small table and looked at the gift for a moment, her expression mixed, her shoulders tensed as if against a great, threatening burden. Finally she let out a muttered curse and lifted the white card out of the flowers.

_My dearest Kate,_

_I love you. Happy birthday. I hope it is every bit as amazing as you are._

_Love,_

_Neal _

Kate felt an unexpectedly strong wave of emotion hit her as she read the simple words. Guilt, sadness, longing, anger.

This was so like Neal. Not mentioning the challenges, the pain, the fact that he was _in prison._ Only concerned for her. Kate let out a little sigh and ran her hands through her long hair. She stared at the white paper, knowing that behind those words lay a deep pain, one that he'd only verbalized to her once, the first time she'd visited after he'd been arrested.

"Kate, if I'd know that all... all of _this_ was going to happen, I would've stopped a long time ago." His eyes full of anguish, his charming facade shattered, he'd laid her hand over hers through the half inch of plexiglass. A half inch that might as well been a million miles thick.

_Would've. Could've._

That was the trouble with situations like this. It was after the fact. Too late for wishes and regrets. No matter how much they both _wished _it hadn't happened, that he wasn't in prison, it wouldn't change anything. Not a single _thing_. All those oh-so-happy memories now turned around to taunt them, to remind them of what _might have _been, if only they'd stopped while they had the chance. With trembling hands Kate replaced the card. Her eyes once again explored the flowers, taking in every inch. Suddenly she was filled with an overwhelming despair. Her head dropped into her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent, shuddering sobs.

No, Kate Moreau didn't like the color yellow. It was a reminder, especially now, of better times, when she'd been safe. Loved. Times with Neal. Times that were over almost sooner than they'd begun.

Together. Alone.

_A/N: Still a rather sad one... This one actually took me quite a while to really _get_. Was the end result good?_


	26. Zap

_A/N: So, here we go. The last chapter. It's been fun. I appreciate each one of your reviews, and though I don't have time to list you all individually, I thank you all. If you wish to, I'd love for you to go vote on my profile poll. This story has helped me through the White Collar-less time (which will soon be over!) and I'm sort of sad it's over... I hope this last chapter finishes it off well. So, without further ado, here is _Zap_._

The halls of the hospital were quiet as Neal Caffrey walked through them, his tense shoulders and slightly clenched jaw the only signs of his discomfort. He flexed and clenched his left hand in its sling, trying not worry, trying not to think.

If he let anything slide across the controlled blank page that was currently his mind, he would snap. He just knew he would. If one little thought got in, all the others would follow, and the inevitable would crash over him. So he walked through the halls, forcing himself to smile jauntily at the nurses he passed and watching the room numbers carefully.

_107, 108, 109..._ He stopped silently in front of room 110, afraid of what he'd see once he went in.

_Your fault._

His mind scrambled for excuses; Elizabeth wasn't back from her sister's yet. Shouldn't she see Peter first?

_Coward._

He took a breath and steadied himself. He shoved all his emotions and worries back down under the surface, and, with a tremendous effort he put the Neal Caffrey mask back on. The one that was unperturbed by the world. Always charming, always smiling.

The carefully formed mask fell away the second he saw his friend, his _partner_ lying motionless in the hospital bed. Everything white, the room filled with that quiet, steady beeping noise that hospitals had. It had been a while since Neal had been in a hospital. He was still unsettled by them.

Neal walked over to the bedside and sat down in the chair, scraping it closer to the bed. Peter's face was peaceful, giving no evidence of what had occurred.

"Peter..." Neal didn't know what to say. Or, didn't know _how _to say what he wanted to say. With an irrepressible air of hopelessness he rested his head in his hands, finally allowing the days' events to wash over him.

_Everything was going fine; the criminals bought everything and Neal was in. He was going to get all the information he needed and all was according to plan. Then in one horrible minute everything changed. He was suddenly at gunpoint against the wall and the leader was sneering at him._

_"You really thought that you could fool us, _Neal Caffrey_?" Neal had tried to bail it out, to make everything work, but they didn't give him time. The leader leaned closer to him, whispering in his ear. "I know you're there. If you want your pet con back alive you'll have to come get him."  
_

_And Peter had come in, hurried and out of breath, disregarding protocol. But the second the door opened, before Jones could get there with backup, before anyone could even blink, the ring leader had turned his gun on Peter and shot him twice. There was a terrible, silent moment as Peter fell to the floor and then the leader turned on Neal._

_"I guess that what he gets for trusting a con." The tall man gave Neal an unpleasant smile and pulled back his fist. "It's your fault he's dead." And he'd punched him, knocking him awkwardly to the ground. He'd woken up in the hospital with a badly sprained wrist hours later, immediately asking for Peter. _

"I'm sorry, Peter," Neal whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "It's my fault. I should've been more careful."

"'t isn't your fault," a mutter came. Neal's head shot up, his blue eyes wide.

"Peter?"

"'s me," Peter said with a bright, lopsided grin. "Are you s'prised?" Neal narrowed his eyes slightly, his eyes raking over first Agent Burke and then the medical equipment around him. He realized they had him on pain medication. That would explain the grin.

"More relieved then anything," Neal said in a rare moment of unguarded honesty. Peter seemed to consider this, then shrugged slightly.

"'t's not your fault," he repeated. Neal let out a short sigh.

"Peter, it is. I should've been more careful, I should've thought it out first. If you hadn't come in after me, then you wouldn't be-"

"Neal," Peter said with an almost lucid, insistent look. "Stop. I don't blame you." Neal tilted his head to one side slightly, simply watching Peter for a moment. "If anythin', I should be _thanking _you."

"For what?"

"You got us 'nough to arrest them," Peter said. "Mos' agents wouldn't ev'n be able t' do that much under those conditions."

"But-" Peter cut him off again.

"Cut 't out. You did good today, kid." He grinned again, all the seriousness gone. "You've got _zap_." That completely threw Neal off his train of thought.

"_What_?" He asked with a hint of incredulousness.

"Energy. Enthusiasm. Vigor. _Zap._"

"Thank you, Mr. Thesaurus," Neal said with a quirked eyebrow, grateful that the conversation had been steered to other topics. And privately touched by the sentiment, however odd it was. _Note to self: Peter Burke is very different when on drugs._

"Don' mention it," Peter said with a little laugh. A nurse came through the door.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but visiting hours are over. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Neal nodded and stood up. Peter clasped his hand.

"See you," he said brightly. "Don't you keep beatin' yourself up."

"Bye, Peter. See you tomorrow." Neal gave a smile to Peter and the nurse and walked out. As he drove in a taxicab back to June's house, Neal watched the lights of New York slide by through the window.

_"You did good today." _Neal found that those words meant more to him than almost anything else had.

_"You did good today."_

_"You're the only one." _

_"I decided to take a _leap of faith_." _

_"Take it. I trust you." _

After all this time, the cases, Fowler, Kate, _everything,_ Neal that understood Peter Burke better. The man was good-hearted, brave, smart, honorable; and all these traits were why Neal had trusted Peter from the beginning. Why he _still _trusted him.

And, finally, Neal thought that Peter might be starting to really trust him back.

_"You did good today."_

_**Fin.**_


End file.
